the darkest light
by bumblebee jars
Summary: Everyone has blood on their hands. Theirs was just more pronounced. The Daybreakers' fate during the Apocalypse.
1. i: false façades

**Title:** false façades

**Summary**: "Of course San Francisco is safe," says Mary-Lynnette, bouncing her Mace canister on her knee as if proving a point. "Don't worry about me."

**Characters/Pairing**: Ash Redfern, Mary-Lynnette Carter, and Blaise Harman.

**Warning/Spoilers**: Sex. Nothing explicit, though.

**A/N**: So, welcome to my new oneshot series! This will be focusing on our favorite Night World characters pre-, post- and during the Apocalypse. These will all be beta'd by the marvelously wonderful **Faded Classic**. Also, a lot of things are AU. Feedback is lovely! Feel free to request a oneshot of a couple or a character's future in this world. Some may not be included, as I have another story in this universe coming up, but go right ahead!

PS. Do **not** read this if you dislike character death with a passion.

* * *

**i.  
false façades**_  
_

* * *

_If only. Those must be the two saddest words in the world.  
__~ Mercedes Lackey_

* * *

_March 2001_

It has been raining for the past two days.

The couple stumbles into their room together, drenched and fumbling. The woman reaches at the hem of her scarlet shirt and peels it off, bunching it up and tossing it somewhere in the corner of the room. Then she reaches for his shirt, breathless and demanding.

He can make out the color of her hair. A color so brown it's nearly black. It probably _is_ black.

His mouth travels across her jaw as his hands slide up her stomach. His fangs scrape across her skin and she shudders, hissing something under her breath as she pulls his head back down for another kiss.

Her legs hit the edge of the bed and they tumble over.

Ash Redfern pushes away the whisperings of _wrongness_ in his mind as he quickly discards her remaining clothing. He lowers his mouth and places open-mouthed kisses along her throbbing veins in her neck. He doesn't drink from her, though. She still has a healing pair of pinpricks on her collarbone.

* * *

"_No human blood."_

"_Not even from the blood bank?"_

"_Not even from there."_

* * *

She pulls away from his kiss to fumble with the button on his jeans. "I want you," she admits with a wicked grin that somehow makes him want her more. _Wrongwrongwrong,_ a voice is screaming in both of their minds. _You don't _belong_ with each other._

He wraps his arms around her and kisses her again, lowering her onto her back. "You're a queen," he tells her, golden eyes flashing, "but you're not _my_ queen."

She smiles at that. "And you're not my king," she whispers back, gray eyes crinkling in the corners. Her eyes are gray, too gray, the _wrong color_, but he looks at her almost-black hair and imagines that she has blue eyes instead.

And he lowers his head and captures her lips. She fights back this time—blood-red nails rake down his back, teeth nip at his lips, fingers thread through his white-blond hair and tug at the strands in a way that's _almost_ painful. Soon they are together, fighting each other and the emptiness inside.

His kisses go lower. The girl arches into his touch and digs her nails into his shoulders as she closes her eyes. Gray eyes. _Not_ blue.

_Wrongwrongwrongwrong_—

In just a few more seconds, the girl's eyes roll into the back of her head and she starts to tremble. She yanks his head up and kisses him with bruising force, meeting him stroke for stroke. "Don't stop, Phil," she breathes when she breaks the kiss, "_Don't stop!_"

At the same time, he groans out, "God, M'Lin, _yes_."

When they are facing each other, spent and sweaty, she smiles at him. A few tears leak out of her eyes, and she turns on her side to hide them. Ash reaches over her and wipes away the tears with his thumb. "You're okay," he tells her quietly. It was the same words she'd said to him after he heard the news. "You're okay."

And he ignores the silver cord that has nothing but emptiness on the other side.

* * *

_He watches the Golden Gate Bridge twist, break in half, and collapse into the water on live television._

_He gets his phone out immediately and speed-dials her. He goes to voicemail. "Mare? Mare, are you okay? Mare? _Mary-Lynnette!_"_

_Three minutes later, an audible snap echoes around his room at Harmony, and he knows the silver cord between them has just been cut loose._

* * *

If there's one thing about Blaise Harman people should know, it's that she only lets people see what she wants them to see.

Her eyes open a few seconds later, all traces of tears gone, and flops over onto her stomach. "You're getting better," she remarks, peering up at him. "We came at the same time."

Ash props himself up on an elbow and stares out the window, watching raindrops crawl down the glass. "Thanks. I try," he says sourly. Blaise laughs. He changes the subject. "Your soulmate was Phillip North, right? That pipsqueak's twin?"

Blaise stops laughing and narrows her storm-cloud eyes. "Yes. He went with Thea and Jez to London to meet an enclave hiding out in Wales. They met two dragons burning down Big Ben and Parliament." She purses her lips and turns away. Then she takes a deep breath and looks back at him, her features proud and haughty once more. "They didn't stand a chance."

Ash swallows and looks back at the window. "Mare was on the Golden Gate Bridge. She said, 'Might as well see the sights while I'm here.' That was the last conversation we ever had."

Blaise clears her throat and rises from the bed, going into the bathroom. When she emerges, she wears a white bathrobe with a black dahlia embroidered on the breast pocket. She pads over to the desk and picks up a folder containing Iona's photos. "So we're supposed to get these delivered to _Lady_ Hannah and co., _and_ find the kid?"

Ash pulls on some boxers and joins her. Blaise tosses her inky black hair—black, not brown, but almost the same shade as her—over her shoulder and turns on the desk lamp, opening the folder. Iona Skelton is a remarkable photographer for a twelve-year-old, Ash has to admit. Unfortunately, she is also one of the Oldest Souls the world has ever seen. So, it is up to the two of them to hunt her down _and_ bring evidence of the Apocalypse to Lady Hannah so she can show them to the still-disbelieving United Nations.

He takes the folder from her hands and starts flipping through the pictures. Some of her photos show the Golden Gate Bridge collapsing, second by second.

His throat tightens at the sight of them, and he tugs at the silver cord again. His plea is met with silence.

They also show buildings trembling and collapsing, cracks appearing in the road, and a shot of a dragon—its back to her—breathing fire upon a screaming mass. Other pictures show the sea coming up and swallowing beach houses. And the most horrifying ones are the ones featuring werewolves and shapeshifters chasing down humans.

"How did this girl survive this?" muses Blaise, staring at a photo of a werewolf on top of a dark girl that looks vaguely familiar. It is a picture taken from above, as if Iona was on the roof at the time. "Did she just hang out on rooftops?"

"Don't know. She has a male witch for a soulmate, though. I think they found each other last year. Turns out he's an Old Soul as well. I'm pretty sure they're on the run."

Blaise harrumphs, but sets the folder down. "Eight years old is a little young to be finding your soulmate."

Ash doesn't bother to correct her. Instead, he says, "The 'wolves will probably come on us tomorrow. Are you ready?"

She grins and gestures to her supplies on the desk, next to the folder. "I'm looking forward to it. Now, come on. We'd better get some sleep if we want to survive the mutts."

Ash agrees, and the two of them slide underneath the covers. He listens to a lot of things: the rain kissing the window pane, to Blaise's shallow breathing, for any signs that the 'wolves will spring them in their sleep. But Ash doesn't sleep.

He hasn't really slept since last March.

* * *

"_I'll come back for you."_

"_I know you will."_

"_Be careful in San Fran, okay?" He lifts his head to glare at Morgead, who is leaning against the wall, ignoring them both. "Blackthorn. You'd better take care of her."_

_Mare pokes his chest. Hard. "_I'll_ be fine. _You're_ the one who's rescuing Poppy and James from a dragon. Just—don't do anything stupid, okay?"_

* * *

It's a half-hour before Blaise stirs, and gets up as silently as a breath. If it weren't for the mattress springs creaking beneath her, Ash wouldn't have noticed. He watches through half-closed eyes as Blaise rounds the bed, sits in front of the window, and starts to sniffle.

Ash is stunned. He has been on the run with Blaise for over a month now, but he has never heard her cry. He silently kicks the covers off of him and gets up. Blaise wipes her tears away and stares resolutely ahead when he sits down next to her.

"I'm here if you need me," he supplies after several minutes of silence.

Blaise makes a face, then rolls her eyes. "I was at that base you took Poppy and James to, in Nevada, because Thea had somehow convinced me _and_ Aunt Ursula that maybe being a damned Daybreaker wasn't so bad. That was when I met Phillip." She smiles an absent, rueful half-smile.

"We'd been _together_—if you can even call it that—for a month when you two went to rescue Poppy and James. I was getting bored. Some part of me thought that we weren't really soulmates, so I experimented with other guys while you two were gone."

"He caught me with another guy and chewed me out for it. I got scared. I got angry. I told him to go to hell."

Ash's lips tug up in some semblance of a smile. Of _course _she would do that.

Lightning flashes and rain continues to fall, but the Midnight witch doesn't flinch. Instead, she says flatly, "We avoided each other. And then, I started feeling differently. I began craving his presence again. So I waited for him to apologize to me. But I quickly found out that wouldn't happen. So I went to apologize to him, but Selene told me that Phillip had already left for London." She laughs humorlessly. "My last words to my soulmate were _go to hell_."

Ash smirks. "It does sound like you, Blaise."

Blaise rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands. "So now everyone is gone. Phillip. Thea. Grandma Harman. Hell, Harmony is probably destroyed already, and Lady Hannah going on to her next life."

He wants to offer her some comfort, wants to tell her that there's a shred of hope. But he knows there isn't. Jez was killed trying to defeat the dragons in London a year ago—and even if she _had_ somehow managed to escape, she was definitely dead by now. The other three didn't matter anymore. _Four less one and darkness triumphs._

"Maybe the next life will be better," he says instead.

She regards him through the corners of stormy gray eyes. "You know, you look a little like him."

"And you look a little like her." _But you have gray eyes, and she has blue, so I know it's not real._

* * *

"_I found out why you loved her. You didn't start by telling me how beautiful she was. If you'd said that I'd have known you weren't really soulmates."_

* * *

Blaise's eyes flicker with something, and she smiles again, but this time he knows that it's forced. She stretches languorously and stands up. "Go to bed, Ash. I'll get you something to help you sleep."

He watches her pad into the bathroom and return with a bowl of milky-white liquid. "I bring it with me all the time," she confesses, handing him the bowl, "in case I have nightmares and can't go back to sleep. It guarantees a good night's rest."

Ash drinks it, but leaves some for her. He gives her back the bowl and crawls back on the bed. Blaise sets it down on an end table and moves to join him, but he grabs her wrists and shakes his head.

"Drink the rest. You deserve a good night's sleep, too."

Blaise frowns, but she obliges him. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and squeezes when she crawls into the bed, and pulls her to him. Blaise smirks at him.

"Don't be getting any ideas, now," she warns, turning on her side. "If we spoon, I'm kicking you out of the bed."

Ash scoffs and turns onto his side, facing the tear-splattered window. "Wouldn't dream of it," he mutters, his eyes already closing.

* * *

"_You know, you've never really cared about anyone. But someday you will, and it's going to hurt. It's going to hurt a lot."_

* * *

He opens his eyes to see thousands of stars twinkling above him. Waves crash from somewhere down below. Someone is laying on top of him, her hand clasped in his, her hair—smelling familiarly like peaches—splayed across his chest.

He glances down and sees Mary-Lynnette staring at him, smiling softly. _Hi_, she thinks in a murmur.

His breath catches in his throat, and he sits up. There is no question that this is a dream and that it will eventually end, but _dammit_, he never wants to wake up. "Hi," he replies.

Mary-Lynnette rests her head on his shoulder. For once, she isn't paying attention to the stars. He can practically hear the gears in her head turning. Then, she says, "I missed you."

An uncomfortable lump forms in his throat, and he squeezes her hand tighter. Her hand is warm, and he can hear her heart beating. "I love you."

"I know. I love you, too."

He doesn't say anything. He just pulls her into his lap and wraps his arms around her, resting his cheek on her head. His soulmate relaxes into his touch and glances up at the stars.

_You know, I bet I can point out more constellations than you,_ she muses.

_You might know their names, but I can see better than you._

_Is that a challenge?_

_Naturally._

They spent the rest of the night pointing out stars and laughing. They talk about Mark, about his sisters, about Iona—anything but her death.

But eventually, one by one, the stars begin to disappear. The inky blackness of the sky starts to bleach. And Mary-Lynnette's feel, once so solid, is steadily getting harder and harder to grasp.

Ash pulls her to him and kisses her neck. "Dawn's coming," he whispers, resting his chin on the crook between neck and shoulder. Mary-Lynnette's lips curve up.

"Watch it with me?"

He watches the sunrise and struggles in vain to keep holding Mary-Lynnette. She eventually crawls out of his grasp and braves a smile. Her blue eyes_—blue, not gray, blue—_are watering. "I have to go," she says, brushing his face with her fingertips. Her caress feels like mist on his cheek.

He swallows and tries not to lean into her touch. _Stay._

She stares at him for a moment, and glances up at the stars when he refuses to move. Her eyes narrow and her jaw tightens. Then she glances down and nestles back into his arms.

The dream continues to fade. He holds her until there is nothing left of the stars, the cliff, or her.

* * *

"_Mare, we've got the whole Night World against us."_

"_I'm not scared. Are you?"_

"_No."_

"_Good. You shouldn't be."_

* * *

He wakes up to see Blaise primping herself in front of the full-length mirror next to the desk.

Well. Some things never change.

He rolls over and goes back to sleep.

But this time he is not blessed with a dream.

* * *

_December 2002_

Blaise kneels at a girl's limp body, pinned underneath a fallen tree, and pulls out a pair of dog tags from underneath her torn shirt. "Rashel Jordan. Does that name ring a bell to you?"

Ash nods, clenches his jaw, and looks away from the unrecognizable corpse. His gaze zeroes in on one body in particular: a limp black panther sprawled across the base of a charred, uprooted tree. A golden leopard lies underneath the pale roots, immobile.

Keller and Galen. Iliana's Last Resorts. And if those two are dead, the Witch Child must be as well. _Great._

Claw marks are slashed into the bark of that tree and several others. The ground they walk on is soot and bones. Several other corpses Ash can't name lay scattered around the ground. Two shriveled horns are in Keller's burgundy-crusted claws.

At least they put up a fight.

Lord Thierry and Lady Hannah have been murdered by shapeshifters. The Inner Circle has been tracked down and killed, every one, except for Aradia. No one knows where _she_ is. Ditto for Delos and his soulmate. Iliana is probably dead. Sarah Strange and her guard dogs have been kidnapped by Maya's hounds.

_Good thing you're already dead, M'Lin. Otherwise they would've killed you, too, _Ash thinks.

"They're coming," announces Blaise, wrinkling her nose. "I can smell them. Gross."

Ash glances at her. "Do you have it?"

She rolls her stormy gray eyes—_gray_, he reminds himself, _gray, gray, gray_—and reaches into her purse, pulling out two vials. She inspects one and tosses it to him. "One sip should do it."

What she doesn't say is _we're dead anyway._

Ash takes the poison and uncorks it. He can hear the pants of Maya's hunting mutts behind them. "On three," he tells her. Blaise nods.

"I'll count." She tosses her hair over her shoulder, her features a cool and unperturbed mask. "For what it's worth, Ash . . . you were a good friend. Thank you."

Ash grins, trying to keep his hands steady. "Likewise."

A few seconds pass, and he hears them break out of the forest and into the ruins of Harmony. Maya trills victoriously, spooking birds and sending them flying out of the woods. "There they are!" someone shouts.

Blaise meets his gaze, her gray eyes as stormy as ever, and taps a single finger against her thigh. _One_.

"Don't even try to fight us. We've got you cornered. All of your little friends are dead," announces Maya. She sounds like a giddy child. Ash can hear her approaching, her soft footfalls in the grass barely audible.

_Two._

Maya comes to a direct stop behind them. "Well," she purrs. "How sweet. The two last Daybreakers, making the final stand. But you don't have to die for a lost cause. Ash Redfern, Blaise Harman—you both are my descendants. You're family. I could find a great use for you. Join me, and you both will live." She puts a hand on both their shoulders.

Ash gives one last tug on the limp silver cord and tries to picture Mary-Lynnette's face. Blaise's eyes darken to a rain cloud shade of steel, and she cranes her head to look at Maya over her shoulder. "Maya? Go to hell."

And she drums a third finger against her thigh.

* * *

"_Of course San Francisco is safe," she says, bouncing her Mace canister on her knee as if proving a point. "Don't worry about me."_


	2. ii: yesterday's memories

**Title:** yesterday's memories

**Summary**: "Marry me," he whispers against her lips, and she laughs through her tears. "I will... as soon as I get back from London." Eric/Thea.

**Characters/Pairing**: Eric Ross, Thea Harman, and a dash of your favorite Daybreakers.

**Warning/Spoilers**: Character deaaaath!

**A/N**: For the purposes of this story, and considering this is AU, cell phones are in frequent use in the timeframe of this story. :)

PS. Do **not** read this if you dislike character death with a passion.

* * *

**ii.  
yesterday's memories**

* * *

_"It's hard being left behind... It's hard to be the one who stays."_  
_~ Audrey Niffenegger, "The Time Traveler's Wife"_

* * *

_1984_

Thea Harman stares up adoringly at her mother, placing her cheek on her knee. A grainy video of her mother walking down the aisle is playing on the TV in front of them. She almost wants to touch her mother's beautiful dress, but she doesn't. "You're so _pretty_, Ma."

Blaise snorts from the couch. She's visiting for the weekend. Thea glares at her from over her mother's knee. "Shut up! No one asked you to watch this with us."

Blaise's lips curve up into a smirk. Even though she is just a few months younger than her, she still scares Thea just a bit. "Sorry," she says, and starts playing with her scarlet string again.

Sophia Harman smiles gently and strokes her daughter's hair. "Thank you, Thea. But when you get married, you're going to be much prettier."

Thea grins. "Really?"

"Really."

Blaise scoffs on the couch. "I don't want to get married. Boys are stupid."

Sophia smiles and turns to look at her niece playing cat's cradle with the string. "I'm sure you'll feel differently someday, Blaise."

"Yeah, right." Blaise rolls her eyes and turns her attention on Thea. "How do _you_ want to get married, Thea?"

Thea claps her hands, beaming. "I want a handsome boy who will love me forever and ever!"

"Stupid! I asked _how_, not _who_. Do you want to get married at a church, or on a mountain, or what?"

Thea frowns at Blaise's insult and rests her chin in her palms, thinking. "It doesn't matter," she says dreamily, "as long as he loves me."

* * *

_childhood is so innocent_

* * *

_July 2000_

Thierry stands at the front of the conference room, clutching a folder of photos tightly. He takes a deep breath and looks at everyone in the room: Blaise Harman, filing her nails; Phillip North, glaring at Blaise from the far side of the table; Jez Redfern, her feet on the table but her expression blank; Selene Lucna, staring into space.

The door opens behind them, and Thea Harman and Eric Ross enter. "Sorry we're late," says Thea softly, taking a seat next to Blaise. Eric sits across from her.

Thierry smiles. "It's no problem. I summoned you all here to tell you something." He sets the folder on the table and opens it, pulling out a handful of pictures and spreading them out across the table.

A dragon climbs up the side of the Eiffel Tower as Paris burns. Rising sea levels almost cover Hawaii in water. Hundreds of humans die from one of Maya's introduced diseases.

"The Apocalypse has begun," he says. "As we have yet to find the final Wild Power, the other three are going into protective custody."

"You mean _hiding_," corrects Jez, tossing her fiery hair over a shoulder. "Hiding isn't cool. I think we should _fight._"

Thierry gives her an even look. "Four less one and darkness triumphs, Jez. Delos has already left with Poppy and James. Iliana is cultivating an identity as Hannah's friend Catherine Clovis. We can only ride out the storm until the fourth Wild Power is revealed."

Jez snorts. "And what if that day never comes? What if the fourth Wild Power is dead, or is on Maya's side?"

Thierry's expression hardens. "We'll have to hope it doesn't come to that."

Jez purses her lips and falls silent. She takes her feet off the table and passes a picture of a burning Jerusalem to Phillip. Blaise examines her nails and purrs, "Why did you call us here, Thierry?"

Thierry sits down at the head of the table and clasps his hands together. "I've found a trustworthy coven in Wales. Jez is going to be taken there until the time comes when we can beat Maya once and for all."

Jez stands up. "Excuse me?"

"Who's escorting her?" interrupts Selene. _Who, indeed_, thinks Eric.

"What _I_ want to know is why Thierry thinks I need to go into hiding when I am a perfectly capable fighter—"

"Who's escorting her, Thierry?" presses Blaise, flipping open a compact mirror and touching up on her blood-red lipstick. Phillip glowers and looks away from her, but she acts as if he wasn't even in the room. Thea meets her cousin's gaze and gives her a meaningful glance. Blaise rolls her eyes and puckers her lips at her reflection.

Jez clenches her jaw and looks away. Thierry straightens. "Thea and Phillip will make sure she arrives safely in London. A hand-picked team of guards will accompany them. They'll be leaving in two weeks."

There is a heartbeat of silence. Then the room is in an uproar.

Eric stands up. "Thierry, what the _hell_ are you thinking—"

"I don't even _need_ to go to Wales! I'm safe right here in Las Vegas—"

"Eric, I assure you, it was a hard decision—"

"London isn't safe, Thierry. Goddess. Thea and Phillip have _soulmates_. Are you just going to rip them apart?"

Selene's comment makes everyone stop and stare at her. She rolls her blue eyes and shrugs. "It's true, isn't it? Possibly everyone on your team has a soulmate. And _everyone_ knows that London is next on Maya's hit list."

Thierry sighs. "Thea is an accomplished witch. Phillip wields powerful telepathic abilities. I thought that those, coupled with the guards, would be the greatest protection Jez could have—"

"Forget about Jez! _Thea_ is the only one who matters to me," Eric interrupts, seething. "London, Thierry? Are you crazy? No. There's no way in hell."

Thierry doesn't reply. The silence is broken by Phillip. "I'll go," he mutters, sneaking a glance at Blaise. She clenches her jaw and folds her hands in her lap, not meeting his gaze. He sighs and adds, "Yeah, I'll go."

Thea takes a deep breath and murmurs, "Then I will as well." Eric stares down at her, speechless.

"_No_," he whispers. Thea looks up at him, her big brown eyes sad.

"It'll be all right," she says. Eric clenches his jaw and shakes his head, promptly turning on his heel and leaving the room. "Eric!" she cries, jumping to her feet and heading after him. Silently, Blaise stands and walks out of the room, her scarlet shirt sending ripples down her torso. Phillip groans and buries his face in his palms.

"Well," says Jez, her voice slightly unsteady. "That went well."

* * *

_but she has no idea_

* * *

Eric shuts the door to his room and locks it. After a moment, he leans against it and tries to appease the sense of dread that is currently filling his gut. After a moment, he regains his composure and heads to his dresser, pulling his sock drawer open. He moves some of the socks around and pulls out a small, navy-blue box.

To think, he got this three days ago. And she would be leaving him in _two weeks_. There was a chance she might not even come back.

Two weeks. God.

Someone knocks on his door. "Eric?" whispers Thea on the other side. "May I come in?"

He puts the box underneath his pillow and opens the door. She is standing in the hall like his own personal angel; her blonde hair frames her face like a halo, her cheeks are tinged pink, and her brown eyes are bright in the soft light of the hallway.

His reverie is interrupted when Thea steps forward and wraps her arms around him. He steps back and pulls her into the room, shutting the door and locking it behind him. Her tears soak into his shirt, but he doesn't care.

_Two weeks. I only have two weeks to be with her._

He pulls her closer to him and buries his face in her hair. Even if she dies, even if Thierry's plan doesn't work and he becomes miserable, he will never forget her. How she smells like lavender and a bunch of other herbs he can't name, how gentle she is with animals, how she says his name—they will always remain with him.

He wraps an arm around her waist and kisses the spot underneath her earlobe. "Don't go to London," he whispers. Thea sniffs and shakes her head. "Please, Thea, I'm begging you. Don't go to London."

She is silent for a moment, her face buried in his shirt. Finally, she looks up and says, almost shyly, "Kiss me?"

No hesitation. He bends down and captures her lips, reaching up to cup her face. The kiss is slow and sweet at first, but it gradually turns more heated. Thea whimpers and wraps her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair.

"Don't leave for London," he says again, and presses his lips against hers. Thea pulls away with another gasp and bumps into the door behind them. Eric breaks away and moves on to her throat, making her gasp. He nips at the column of her throat and kisses up her neck to her jaw.

"I—" she whimpers when he presses his lips to the outer shell of her ear. "I'll come back!"

Eric kisses her again and pulls away, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Do you mean it?"

Thea's eyes are watering. "Of course I do."

He releases her, ignoring the voice urging him to never let her go, and smiles. "Close your eyes. I have something for you."

She obliges, and he quickly goes to the bed, pulling out the blue box from underneath the pillow. He takes out the claddagh ring and returns to her, sliding it on her finger. Thea opens her eyes, takes one look at the ring, and starts crying. "Eric—"

He kisses her, cutting her off. "Marry me," he whispers against her lips. "Marry me, Thea."

She laughs through her tears and wraps her arms around his neck. "I will. I will! I _promise_ I will. Yes. I'll marry you, as soon as I get off the plane from London."

Eric pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. "You don't have to go."

She sniffs and smiles weakly. "Hey, I've always wanted to go globe-trotting."

"It'll be dangerous."

"If worst comes to worst, we have Jez."

"The Welsh coven might not be there."

"In which case, we'll turn around and head straight back."

He kisses her nose, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. "But that's the thing . . . you might not _come_ back," he says, wiping her tears away with his thumb.

Thea leans into his touch and smiles, placing her hand over his own. The green gem of the claddagh ring glints in the light, shedding color everywhere. "Eric Ross, I will _always_ come back to you."

* * *

_that she will return in a way that they least expect_

* * *

Thea hums under her breath on the private jet, watching the clouds pass below her. "We'll be in London in five minutes," says the captain over an intercom. "Prepare for landing!"

She smiles and twists at her ring, turning to glance at her compatriots. The guards are up with the flight attendants, sleeping. Jez is eyeing her ring with a sort of disgusted fascination. Phillip is brooding in the seat across the aisle, his expression stormy. Thea smiles at Jez, unbuckles her seat belt, and sits next to Phillip.

"Hi," she whispers, making him start. His green eyes flicker from her to the clouds, then back to her again.

"What do you want?"

"I want to help you."

"Help me?" he repeats, and his expression clouds over. "Oh. I suppose this is about _Blaise_, isn't it?"

"Yes." Thea folds her hands in her lap, making the gem in her engagement ring shine in the light. "She really _is_ fond of you, you know."

"She doesn't even acknowledge my existence," he grumbles.

"That's because you ruffled her feathers. Blaise doesn't really like being yelled at. She likes being the one who yells. Maybe you could apologize for yelling at her, say how you could have handled the situation a bit more delicately—"

"You're kidding," says Phillip, sitting up in his seat. "She's the one who made out with a different guy when she knew perfectly well that _I_ was her soulmate!"

The plane takes a sharp dip, and Thea's stomach begins to churn. "Oh, God," moans Jez from behind them. She's been airsick all ten hours to London. "Guys, I have a_ bad_ feeling about this!"

Thea calmly pulls out the barf bag in the seat in front of them and hands it to her. "As I was saying, I think you should apologize. Just say you're sorry, and she'll forgive you, and you two can start enjoying life."

Phillip snorts and returns to his brooding position. Thea shrugs. The plane's wings whistle outside, and it makes another sharp dip down. Jez makes a half-strangled noise behind her, making Thea wish she had some peppermint or ginger with her. It would help with that poor girl's nausea.

She returns to her seat and stares out the window to await the landing. _So far, so good_, she thinks, a bit smugly. _I _told_ you we would be fine, Eric._

* * *

_that she is wrong and he is right_

* * *

The phone on his end table blares to life at four o'clock in the morning. Eric groans, rolls over and grabs it, ending the call. He is just about to fall back asleep when the phone rings again, sounding more insistent and shriller than the last time. He mumbles a curse and picks up. "Hello?" he whispers, just a few seconds away from falling asleep again.

"Eric! Oh, Goddess, _Eric_," sobs Thea. "They're here, Eric. They're _here_."

He sits up, awake immediately. His heartbeat suddenly begins to speed up. "Dragons?"

She's silent for a few seconds, then whispers, "Yes."

Someone screams in the background. He runs a hand through his hair and exhales shakily. "God. Okay. Thea, here's what you need to do. Find somewhere safe and hide, okay? You need to hide."

Thea cuts him off by screaming, "_Phil!_ _Move_, you idiot!"

Eric tries to breathe normally, but finds he can't. Terror coils in his gut. _Please_, he prays. _Please, please, bring her back to me._

After what feels like hours, Thea returns to the phone. "Eric," she sniffles. "There are two dragons. One has two horns, the other has three. Dylis hasn't gotten here yet. Eric, you need to know that I love you. You are everything to me."

Panic swells up inside. The world begins to spin as his mouth goes dry and his stomach begins to roil. "Thea, don't talk like that," he manages, trying and failing to summon more words.

She breaks down and begins crying. "I love you, Eric. But—" She screams as something on the other line explodes. "_No!_ Get away from her!"

Eric gets up and starts pacing the room. Moonlight streams onto the floor from his open window, but the breeze does nothing for his feverish skin. "Thea, love, talk to me. What's going on?"

She answers in a few agonizingly long minutes. Her voice cracks as she says, "Lupe just went down. Oh, Goddess." She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and begins to sob.

Eric's hands are shaking. He sets the phone on the bed so he won't drop it and turns it on speaker. "Thea. Breathe. Love, I need you to listen to me. It'll be all right, as long as you find somewhere to hide _right now_. Dylis is coming for you guys. But you need to hide and wait for her."

Thea stifles a wail on the other end, but he can still hear it through the speaker. His heart clenches at the sound.

_Think of a world without her_, a part of him whispers. The very thought sends uncomfortable shivers down his spine—_no!_

_She's not dead yet_, a different part of him insists.

"Thea. You'll be okay, you hear me? You'll be okay. Just—find a place where the dragons will ignore you—"

"They're burning down Big Ben," she whispers. "Eric, they're herding all of the humans into . . . into _cattle cars_! They're sending them to the ghettos. I know they are."

Something inhuman roars in the background, making gooseflesh ripple across his skin. "Get _out_ of there!"

She takes another deep breath, and he can _hear_ her calming down. "I can't. I have to help them."

"Thea, now is not the time to be noble—"

"It's not noble. It's _right_." She sniffs. "I have to help them. Do you love me, Eric?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Yes. I love you. Love, you're everything to me, which is why you _cannot do this_."

She doesn't even bother to mask her sobs this time. Car sirens are wailing in harmony with peoples' screams. He winces and sits back down on the bed. She quickly reins herself in and manages, shakily, "I love you, Eric. Never forget that."

"Thea, _please_—"

The line goes dead. He stares at his phone in disbelief for a moment, then redials her number. _Please pick up,_ he prays. _Please, please, please..._

The phone rings.

And rings.

And rings.

She answers on the seventh ring. "Hello!"

"Thea, oh, God, I thought—"

"I'm Thea Harman. I'm glad you took the time to call me, but, unfortunately, I was unable to answer. Leave a name, a number and a message and I'll be sure to call you back as soon as I can. Have a nice day!"

He clenches the phone so tightly his knuckles turn white. "_Dammit_, Thea!" he roars, turning around and heaving the device at his dresser's mirror. It cracks with a strange tinkling noise and falls apart immediately—and two silver cords quietly snap in the following silence.

* * *

_that his world will shatter_

* * *

_2002_

Eric walks through the prairie grass that reaches his waist. When he can no longer see his house behind him, he glances down at his left fist. He slowly uncurls his fingers from the claddagh ring.

She came back to him in an open casket, wearing the ring and a white dress that looked far too similar to a wedding dress. He took the ring before they lowered her into the ground.

His chest constricts as he struggles to breathe. Rosamund stands next to him, her arms wrapped around herself. Her green eyes are narrowed in on her brother. "You don't have to do this," she tells him.

He can't take his eyes off of the claddagh ring. "Yeah, I do. They'll take it from me as soon as I reach the ghetto."

She shrugs, ever patient. He takes a small, sharp breath, and screws his eyes shut. _Do it. Do it, before you lose your nerve._

He curls his fingers around the ring and throws it as far and as hard as he can.

The ring blinks once in the light and disappears amongst the golden, swaying grass.

* * *

_and that he will have nothing left of her but yesterday's memories._


	3. iii: scarlet grandeur

**Title:** scarlet grandeur

**Summary**: "If this fails . . . we won't live to see Circle Daybreak win."

**Characters/Pairing**: Delos, Maggie, Poppy, James. With the cameo of a certain Harman witch.

**Warning/Spoilers**: ... none, really. Mentions of sex and then a death scene, but that's it.

**A/N**: This is dedicated to **Winterowl321**, who requested a Delos/Maggie. I intended to write Delos/Maggie, but it . . . somehow turned into this _thing_. Also dedicated to my beta, who saw the summary of this fic and said, "Hope? HOPE? WHAT HOPE?!" XD So... here's your hope. Kind of.

PS. You **can** read this if you dislike character death with a passion.

* * *

**iii.  
scarlet grandeur**

* * *

_I don't think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.  
~ Anne Frank_

* * *

_March 18, 2000_

Poppy lowers herself into the seat, anxiety making her stomach roll. James sits next to her, as calm as ever. When Thierry Descouedres walks into the room, Poppy blurts, "What did we do this time?"

Thierry pauses on his way to his desk and gives her a funny look. "Who said anything about you doing something?"

Poppy bites her lip to hide a smile and sits up. "So we're not in trouble for being in that military base?"

"No." Thierry sits down and pulls out a folder from one of his desk drawers. "Actually, I have a favor to ask of you two."

James and Poppy exchange a look. "What sort of favor?" asks James, his tone wary. Mary-Lynnette had done a favor for Thierry.

Thierry's smile fades. "You know Maggie Neely and Delos Redfern, yes?"

They both nod. "I am asking you two to be their last resorts. Maggie and Delos are going to be living in the countryside, as most enclaves in America have been destroyed by Maya. I want you two to protect and accompany them."

"They're going on a camping trip?" asks Poppy, a bit stunned. She's always been a city girl, but . . . _maybe_ she can figure out how to set up a tent. She glances at James and sees the same expression on his face.

"Essentially. A very _long _camping trip."

"And you want us to go with them on this camping trip."

Thierry nods and glances between them. "What do you say?"

Poppy grabs James's hand. _I've been meaning to get to know Maggie better. And you and Delos can learn to get along. What do you think?_

_I've never gone camping in my life._

She giggles at that. _Me neither. But hey, you only live once, right? We can hitchhike and find out what poison ivy looks like the hard way and look at the different types of butterflies and do all the other things campers do._

James smiles at her enthusiasm. _Point._

_Let's do it?_

_Let's do it._

Poppy turns to Thierry and grins. "We're in."

* * *

_June 3, 2006_

"This place is gorgeous!" crows Maggie, throwing her hands above her head and twirling. "How could Hannah want to_ leave_ this place? It's much better than foggy, rainy Washington! And—mountains! And lakes!"

"I think Washington had all of these things," says Delos, joining her side and pulling her to him. Maggie bumps into his chest and grins.

"Poppy made the right decision to go to Montana," she says. Poppy looks up from setting up their tent to flash her a thumbs-up.

"I am always right!" She grins, then looks back at James and continues helping him with the campsite.

Maggie laughs and wraps an arm around Delos's waist. "I think they wanted me to get firewood," she mutters under her breath. "Want to come?"

Delos smirks, making Maggie roll her eyes. _Come with me to get firewood. Get your head out of the gutter._

_Is getting firewood the only thing you want to do?_ Maggie grins, caught. _That's what I thought. Let's go before James and Poppy stop wrestling and realize we're gone._

Poppy has, indeed, tackled James, which has knocked over the already-fragile tent. Still smiling, Maggie threads her fingers though Delos's and leads him in the direction of the forest.

* * *

_July 23, 2006_

Sparks pop from crackling logs as a squirrel roasts on the spit. Maggie shakes her head mournfully. "Poor little thing."

Poppy looks up from her herbs and grins. "Hey, at least you're not the one who had to catch it!"

"You're right." Maggie glances sideways and grins at the man holding her. "You killed a poor, innocent rodent, Delos. How can you live with yourself?"

"I never win with you," mutters Delos, rolling his eyes. Flames flicker on his face, and Maggie lifts herself up to kiss his cheek.

"Ah, you know I love you."

Poppy suddenly bolts to her feet, looking around like a frightened animal. Delos looks away from Maggie and asks, "Poppy, what's wrong?"

"We're being watched," she hisses, her curls flying around her face. "Can't you feel it?"

They stare at her. "Poppy, what are you talking about?" Maggie says slowly.

Poppy stares at them, her bright green eyes wide with fear. "Maybe I'm just paranoid," she says after a long pause, slowly returning to her sitting position. "We _did _just get here, after all." She forces a laugh that sounds very, very fake.

"Poppy, what's going on?" demands Delos. Poppy laughs again, her expression pained.

"I don't know," she admits, and returns her attention on her herbs. "But I have a very bad feeling."

* * *

The witch's breath comes out in a mist as she looks up from her scrying bowl, her kohl-lined dark blue eyes somber. An electronic map is in front of them. "I know where they are," she whispers, and touches the screen. The computer zooms in on Montana, and she points to another spot on the map.

"Excellent," purrs Maya. Two people—a man with pale blond hair and translucent skin, and a woman that looks like an Egyptian goddess—exchange a glance. Gisèle shudders at the sight of the horns on their forehead, but composes herself as they look back at her.

"You're sure they're there?" asks the woman, narrowing her eyes. "You aren't trying to trick us?"

"I'll forget you just implied I was _ever_ on Circle Daybreak's side," snaps Gisèle, her blue eyes flashing. The man smiles slowly.

"That's right. Daybreak killed your soulmate, didn't they?"

Gisèle clenches her jaw and looks down at the map. "They're all there. I don't think they'll leave if you move quickly, but that ginger is a strong psychic. She could sense when I was scrying her. She might convince them to move."

The woman stands up smoothly, her clothes rippling all around her. "You're a doll," she says, grabbing the man's tie and pulling him to his feet. She looks up at him and grins. "Meraux, we have a Wild Power to catch."

* * *

_July 25, 2006_

A rustle from the underbrush makes Poppy look up from the rabbit she is feeding on. She can't see anything in the shrub, but her concentration is so great the psychic sleep she put on the rabbit fades. The creature regains awareness and bolts out of her hands to the safety of the shade.

Poppy frowns. That rabbit was going to be Maggie's dinner. She crosses her arms over her chest and says, "Well, you just lost the element of surprise, so you might as well come out."

The forest falls silent, as if the whole place is holding its breath. After a moment, two brown eyes poke through the shrub, and a voice too sweet for its own good whispers, "Miss Poppy?"

Poppy blinks and gets to her feet. No way. Absolutely _no_ way. "Timmy?" she whispers. "_Timmy_?"

The four-year-old scrambles out of the bushes and runs to her. His hair is tousled and messy and his clothes are caked in mud, but otherwise he seems okay. Poppy envelops him in a hug and beams. "Oh my God! You're okay! Timmy, what happened?"

Timmy buries his face in her shoulder. "It was so scary, Miss Poppy," he sniffles. Poppy strokes his hair and sits down.

"It's all right now, Timmy. You're safe with us." She gently pulls him away from her and stands up, grabbing his hand. "C'mon. Let's go find James."

Timmy's brow furrows at the name. "James?"

Poppy stops and stares at him. Timmy knows perfectly well who James is. But . . . it has been a while. Maybe he's forgotten? "My soulmate," she explains.

Timmy's expression smoothes over like clockwork. "Oh, right," he says, his high voice cheerful once again. "Rasmussen. I met him in, uh, Harmony. I remember now."

James has never been to Harmony. And Timmy has never called him _Rasmussen_. Poppy lets go of Timmy's hand and pulls away, her eyes narrowing. "Who are you?" she asks. At the same time, she thinks, _James? You there?_

_Yeah. What is it?_ His voice is faint, which means he's not nearby. _Damn_ it.

Timmy glares up at her, his eyes turning a dark and malignant black. His gaze meets hers, and suddenly a wave of dark energy hits Poppy like a steamroller. A scream rips itself from her throat and she falls to her knees, clutching her head.

Her vision suddenly becomes tinted red. She looks up to see Timmy standing above her. Except he—no, she—wait, it?—is no longer Timmy. It's _her_.

_Dragon_, a part of her whispers.

"Who are you?" Poppy manages. Black-and-purple dots swim in her vision.

"Lights out," says Poppy's evil clone. Another wave of energy hits her full-on, and she collapses on the ground.

James finds Poppy a few minutes after the scream. She reaches for him the same time he does, and in a moment they are holding each other. "I heard you scream," he murmurs in her hair. "What happened?"

Poppy shakes her head frantically and pulls away. "James, that wasn't me!" she cries, her eyes wide. "That was _Maggie_!"

James starts. "_What_?"

"Maggie. Oh, God. She was—" She cuts herself off and smiles. Before James can figure out what is going on, something slams into the back of his skull. James pitches forward, unconscious. Poppy neatly steps out of the way and smiles down at the body of her soulmate.

The next moment, she is replaced by a tall man with blond hair and cold gray eyes. A cracked and yellowed horn is displayed prominently on his forehead. "Did you find it?" he asks his companion.

The woman winds a strand of curly black hair around a finger and smiles, lifting the wooden club with her free hand. "They're at the camp. You separate them, and I'll get the vermin girl."

* * *

The sky is tinged pink and gold as the sun sets behind Montana's mountains. Maggie closes her eyes and sighs, leaning back into Delos's chest. "You need to relax," she murmurs, entwining her fingers with his.

Delos does not look away from the forest he's been watching for the past two hours. Instead, he says, "They aren't back yet."

"Are you worried, Delos?" she teases, opening her eyes to grin at him. "You, Mr. I-don't-have-any-feelings?"

His stubble is highlighted in the flickering firelight beside them. James might have stopped aging the day Poppy woke up from her transformation, but Delos has been aging ever since he met her. Delos glances down and meets her gaze, his yellow eyes a molten gold. "Don't you think we should be looking for them?" he murmurs, nuzzling her neck.

Maggie gasps and straightens. "Not if you keep doing that," she says, breathless. Delos smiles against her skin and pulls her flush against him.

_Have you seen Poppy?_ James asks suddenly, interrupting them. Delos groans and pulls away from Maggie to glare at the ground.

_No, I haven't. Where are you?_

_I'm almost there._ The next second, a shape pulls away from the darkness to become James. He reaches the two in a few seconds, his jaw tight and his eyes stormy. Maggie stands up and dusts herself off.

"James, what's wrong?" she asks.

"I can't find Poppy," he says. "We were talking telepathically, and she just . . . got cut off. I've been searching the whole forest, but I can't find her."

Delos gets up, his eyes narrowing. Poppy's episode from two days ago hasn't been forgotten. "Maya?"

"Maybe." He shrugs, looking helpless. "I just wanted to let you know that I won't be back until I find her."

"You don't think you're going back out there alone, do you?" demands Maggie, grabbing and tugging a sweatshirt over her head. She grabs a flashlight and flicks it on. "I want to help."

James smiles and nods, then looks at Delos. The prince bows his head in acknowledgement. "I'll help, too."

Maggie smiles and socks her soulmate in the arm. "That's the spirit. What's the game plan?"

"I think we should split up," says James. Delos shakes his head and wraps an arm around Maggie's waist.

"No. We stick together."

They glare at each other for a moment, then look at Maggie for the tiebreaker. She nibbles on her lip as she thinks. "James has a point," she admits. Delos frowns. "If we split up," she says defensively, "we'll have a better chance of finding Poppy. Divide and conquer, right?"

Delos stares at her for a few more seconds, then nods. "You take care of yourself," he says. Maggie smiles and twirls her flashlight, pulling back her coat lapel to reveal a wooden dagger.

"I'm good," she assures him. James smiles and turns, running back into the forest. Delos kisses her forehead and pulls away before melting into the shadows. Maggie turns west and ventures into the darkness in front of her.

She is in the middle of the forest when she sees something move out of the corner of her eye. "Poppy?" she asks, tightening her grip on her flashlight. If worst comes to worst, she'll fight with the flashlight and the wood.

No answer. Maggie can feel her heartbeat speed up and her breathing grow heavier. After a long moment, she turns back around and power-walks to the nearest tree.

Someone grabs her mouth before she reaches it and brings her down. She lands on her back with a whoosh. Maggie drops the flashlight and drives the wooden stake into the person's hand. They hiss, but don't let go of her. So, not a vampire.

_I can't breathe. Oh, God, I can't breathe._

The person tightens their grip on her face, covering her nose and her mouth, and digs her head further into the ground. Brightly-colored dots swim in her vision.

"Sweet dreams, princess," her attacker hisses in a deep, bass voice.

Then a wave of pure _agony_ hits her, and Maggie slumps to the ground.

* * *

Maggie is the first to wake up. The first thing she realizes is that she is tied up. Secondly, Poppy and James are on either side of her, unconscious. And Delos isn't with them. Plus, there's someone up ahead, in the forest. It's probably the person who took her out.

Hanging her head and keeping her breathing even, she calls out, _Delos? Delos, can you hear me?_

_Maggie. Where are you?_

_I don't know. But Poppy and James are here, and they're knocked out. Can you follow the cord, like how we've been experimenting?_

_Yes. I'll be right there. Hang on._

_Okay._

She holds her breath and shuts her eyes when she feels a shadow pass over her. Someone cracks their knuckles. The next moment, the same bass voice she heard earlier says, "Any news?"

"Well," says Voice 2, distinctly high and feminine, "She needs the paste."

Paste? What paste?

Someone kneels in the grass in front of her and lobs two freezing, wet globs of some kind of cream on her temples. Maggie recoils, and the person in front of her laughs. They get up and move away. "Knew you weren't asleep," Voice 1 says. Maggie opens her eyes to glare at him.

The man she sees scares her. He has closely-cropped hair that ends in a prominent widow's peak on his forehead. His eyes are a slightly slanted shade of ice-gray eyes that make her want to curl up into a ball and hide. A prominent horn is displayed on his brow, as if he were proud of his markings.

And though he looks nothing like him, Maggie can't help but be reminded of Hunter Redfern.

The man grabs her chin and tilts her head to the side. "I wonder what that prince sees in you," he murmurs. "You're not very pretty. Not like my Valencia."

Maggie wants to spit at him. She almost does. But the man has hoisted her up and brought her to Voice 2—a brown-eyed, black-haired Middle Eastern goddess with too many curves and a sultry smirk. A single yellowed horn pokes through the black bangs covering her forehead.

This must be Valencia. Maggie instinctively hates her. The woman laughs at her expression and grabs her elbows, spinning her around so Maggie's back is pressed to her front. "My name's Belinda, dear," she whispers into her ear. "That's Meraux over there. You'd do well to remember that."

Slime drips from Maggie's temple down onto her clothes. Gross.

_Delos_, she thinks, making the telepathic call as loud as a cannon blast. _Delos, there are two dragons here. It's a trap. Don't come after me!_

"Poor thing," tuts Belinda. "He can't hear you. That's lemongrass and peppermint paste on your temples. It blocks your telepathic connection to everyone except the person who applied the paste, which, by the way, was _me_. He's on his way over now. I can already hear him."

Meraux has disappeared into the shadows. Maggie opens her mouth to shout a warning to Delos, but Belinda muffles her scream with her hand before any sound can come out. "Don't try anything now," she coos. "Or you'll end up getting hurt."

Something cold and sharp digs into her throat. _She's got a knife_, Maggie realizes wildly. _She'll use me to get Delos. I need to get_ out.

A hand grabs her wrists and twists them up into her shoulder blades. Maggie buckles, pain shooting up her arms. _She's already got two hands_, she thinks. _How is she—_

Nails dig into her wrist, and she looks down to see a third arm poking out of the dragon's stomach. Maggie's own stomach roils at the sight and she looks away, breathing deeply to keep from throwing up.

_Delos, please, go away_, she thinks, hot tears pricking her eyes. If anything happens to her soul mate, she will never be able to forgive herself. _I'm sorry._

But Delos doesn't hear her warning. Sure enough, in a few minutes, he appears like a lethal cat. He makes no sound when he steps out into the moonlight. Maggie watches in terrified silence as his eyes dart from Poppy to James to the imprint of grass where she'd been sitting.

Then Delos looks up and meets her eyes. His gaze turns molten, and he suddenly has a sharp, jagged piece of wood pressed into his left arm. "Drop her, and I won't incinerate you two."

Belinda pushes Maggie out into the moonlight. The dagger doesn't let up on its pressure once. "'You two'?" she repeats. "I'm impressed. But, unfortunately, prince, we have orders."

Delos's eyes flicker. "You're letting Maya boss you around? You're _dragons_. Surely you can do better than that."

Maggie feels the dagger dig into her throat. Her skin begins to sting. Warm blood trickles down her neck and into her shirt. Delos's grip on the wood tightens. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," warns Belinda, her voice tight. "My knife is _dangerously_ close to the jugular. It would be a tragedy if it . . . slipped."

Maggie shakes her head frantically. Belinda digs the dagger a little deeper into her throat, and she stills. "Drop it," snarls the dragon.

Delos hesitates for a heartbeat before pulling the piece of wood away from his arm and dropping it, holding his hands up in the universal sign for surrender. _No!_ Maggie cries. Tears prick her eyes. _Delos . . ._

"There's a good prince," purrs Belinda. "Kick it away and keep your hands up."

Delos obeys, his eyes never leaving Maggie's. Meraux appears from the shadows and wrenches his hands down, locking them together in wooden handcuffs and pushing him to his knees. Belinda pulls the knife away and shoves Maggie to the floor. Maggie gets to her knees and crawls towards him.

She is crying by the time she reaches Delos. "Why—did—you—do—that," she cries, punching his chest with every word. He does nothing but stare at her, silent. "You should've _killed_ them! You—stupid—ass—"

"And lose you?" whispers Delos, cutting her off. Maggie stops punching him and fists his shirt in her hands, dizzy. She looks up, breathing hard, and Delos presses his lips against hers. The kiss is short and hard, but it gets her to refocus.

_Dragons. Kidnapped. Poppy and James. Right. Start coming up with an escape plan, brain._

"How sweet," says Belinda, pulling Maggie away from Delos. "But we really must be going now."

Meraux gets down on all fours and, with a chilling sound like cracking knuckles, changes into the largest bear Maggie has ever seen. Belinda gathers Poppy into her arms, like she's some ragdoll, and tosses her over the bear's back. The vampire is silent, and if Maggie hadn't known better, she'd have thought she was dead.

James joins his soulmate on the bear's back, and then Belinda pulls Delos away from Maggie. "Goodnight, prince."

Maggie watches in horror as the dragon lady knocks him out with a small wooden club. Belinda hoists Delos up next to James and Poppy and swings the club, turning to her. "Are you coming, hon?" she asks. There's a strange light in her eyes.

Maggie starts. She's the only one who's not knocked out and bound. "I have a choice?"

The woman's lips curve into a malicious sneer. "Yes. You can run—" she nods to the safe-looking forest, her smile growing larger, "—or you can come with us."

Maggie stares at her. Belinda stares right back, her brown eyes almost black and lit with dark amusement. She almost looks . . . eager. Like—

_She _wants_ me to run. If I run, I die._

"I'll go," she says. Belinda's face falls, but she composes it quickly and shrugs.

"Suit yourself." She flicks her wrist at Maggie, and the world disappears.

* * *

_August 17, 2006_

Gisèle blows into her hands as the crowd gathers in front of the stage. Snowflakes stick to her black hair, giving her a salt-and-pepper look. "What could Maya possibly want at this hour?" she complains.

Gillian Lennox resists the urge to point out that eight o'clock is a perfectly reasonable hour. Her roommate has never been a morning person.

When all of the inhabitants are in the courtyard, Maya steps up onto the stage. "Today I have a very important announcement," she announces, her smile radiant. "We have captured the last hope for Circle Daybreak. We have a Wild Power!"

Gillian's mind races. Jez is dead, so she's out. Iliana has fallen off the face of the earth, and a lot of people think she's dead, so _she's_ out. No one knows who the fourth Wild Power is. So that only leaves—_Delos_.

_Four less one and darkness triumphs._

Maya is still speaking, but Gillian no longer hears her. _We're dead_, she thinks, and tries to hide the tears that freeze on her cheeks.

* * *

_August 20, 2006_

Gillian runs a hand through her short bob of hair. The werewolf regards her with suspicious brown eyes and sneers at her, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm t-t-telling th-the tr-_truth_," bites out Gillian, doing her best to frighten him with her eyes. It's hard to intimidate someone when it is so cold you can't help but stutter.

"_Sure _you are," the werewolf replies with a sneer. Gisèle glares at the creature, her blue eyes blazing.

"Listen, Fido," she says, with a clear and cool tone that betrays nothing, "we're two of the five witches in this _whole_ city. You _know_ we do checkups on the prisoners every two months. Maya can't execute someone if he freezes to death!"

The werewolf grumbles, but steps aside. Gillian smiles at Gisèle, who shrugs in return and turns to go to her assigned blocks.

Gillian steps inside the room and closes the door behind her. Without turning around, she says, "Hello. My name is Gillian Lennox, and I'll be your friendly neighborhood—"

"Gillian!" someone gasps. Someone . . . _familiar_. She's definitely heard this voice before. Her head snaps up and she whirls around. Lilac eyes meet jade-green, and she drops her bag of medical supplies. All at once, she is kneeling in front of the vampire cell, clasping Poppy North's hand.

"Poppy—" she glances around to see that James Rasmussen and Delos Redfern share her cell. Maggie Neely is in the human/witch cell to the right of her. "—and other people! Goddess! I thought only Delos was taken. I never thought—that—oh, Goddess," she says again.

James kneels next to Poppy, and Maggie crawls to the corner closest to them. Delos sits on the stone bench carved out of the mountain cavern and stares at her.

"Gillian, where are we?" James asks. "When we were attacked, we were knocked out with some sort of psychic energy."

"When we woke up, we were in here," Maggie adds.

"You're in Eris," she whispers. "Maya's capitol in the Rocky Mountains." Her eyes flit up to meet Delos's. "Delos—she's going to execute you. She said it would break the remaining members of Circle Daybreak."

Delos's chin tilts up arrogantly. "I'd like to see her try," he says. "I'll fry her before she can even look at me."

She shakes her head. "No, you don't understand. Maya isn't just a vampire. She's a witch, too, the sister of Hellewise—"

"Oh my God," says Maggie, gripping her cell's bars so tightly her knuckles turn white. "_A witch who isn't a witch_. That's what that dragon said to Keller back when they were rescuing Iliana, right? _Maya_'s been the one waking up all the dragons."

James grins at her. "Genius."

"She'll do something to you," continues Gillian impatiently. She lets go of Poppy's hand and clutches the wooden bars. "I don't know how, but she'll make sure that you can't use your Power."

"Like Sylvia," murmurs Maggie. Delos is the only one who seems to recognize that name, because he frowns.

"What are we going to do?" asks Poppy, folding her legs under her. James sits next to her and entwines his fingers through hers.

"We endure."

"No," corrects Gillian. "We break out."

"_What?_" all four of the prisoners whisper at the same time.

Gillian leans forward, her eyes narrowed. "I'm going to get you guys out of here."

* * *

_August 23, 2006_

"You are _not_ going to get them out of there."

"Please," pleads Gillian, rubbing her hands together. She can't feel her cheeks, but Tora is like an immovable statue, so she won't whine about the snow and the ice. "You know all about the guard schedules on Eris. You know who'll be in their cell at the right time, and you know the blind spots on the patrols. If you help me, they have a chance of getting out!"

"You're insane," sneers Tora, not looking away from the snowy scenery in front of her. They are on one of the mountain's outposts, and ice has begun to form in cracks in the stone. Gillian stands as close to the fireplace as she can. "There's no way I'm helping you break them out."

"Delos is a Wild Power," Gillian points out, her lilac eyes shining with determination. "And I know how loyal you were—are—to the First House and Circle Daybreak."

"The First House is dead." The shapeshifter's expression becomes pained, just for a moment, and quickly morphs back to its blank mask. It is then that Gillian knows she's won.

Her lips curve up into a smile as she says, "No, it isn't. Only the Queen's death has been confirmed. And imagine how grateful they'll be when you save a Wild Power from certain death. You would be revered, not only among the tigers, but among the whole shapeshifting race."

Tora's amber eyes spark, and she picks at her nails, a habit she does when she's nervous. "If this fails . . ." she warns, eyes narrowed.

"If this fails," says Gillian, her voice flat, "we won't live to see Circle Daybreak win."

* * *

_August 31, 2006_

Gillian stares at her roommate for a moment, gauging whether or not her potion has actually worked, and claps her hands. Gisèle makes a small noise and rolls over onto her other side, but shows no sign of waking.

Gillian grins and stands up, speed-changing from her healer's clothes to an all-black outfit Tora had leant her. Then she grabs a small vial filled with bubbly, electric-blue liquid and tucks it into a leather pouch. When the memory potion is safe, she grabs a pure-silver knife and heads out of the witches' dorms.

No guards tonight. Tora has made sure of that. _Bless that tiger_, she thinks, stealing out into the snow. _Mother Hecate, Mother Hellewise, protect me._

Another, smaller part of her adds, a bit guiltily, _David, forgive me._

If Maya finds out about what she's doing right now . . . David would be killed. Just like _that_. Gillian has done her best to be good, to make sure he would survive the ghetto, but this will blow everything out of the water.

_Can't think about that now._

She skirts past a patrolling vampire and murmurs, "I call upon the powers of Hecate and Hellewise to aid me in my quest." She visualizes her psychic energy: starting out as a bright yellow, then fading to paler and paler shades, until there is nothing left of it. A small tingle goes through her body, and she knows that it has worked.

After a moment, she runs across the clearing, pressing herself up against the mountainside as soon as she reaches the other side. The snow makes it a bit easier, but climbing down a mountainside is tough. Eris is built like a spiral staircase; Maya's palace is at the very peak, and the slave quarters and the prisons are close to the base of the mountain. The zoo was right above the prisons, so she would have to be careful.

A gale hurls ice and snow at her face, but she merely blows into her hands to warm them up and continues on her way. After a half-hour of descending down the slippery slope, she arrives at a shaft cut into the mountainside. A camouflaged curtain hangs in its doorway. If she hadn't known what she'd been looking for, she would have been fooled.

She pushes past the curtain and shivers. The prisons are ice-cold down here, even in the middle of summer. Water drips from icicles poking out of the cracks in the rocks. Gillian blows into her hands again and pulls out the silver dagger with stiff, trembling fingers.

Her footsteps are silent as she descends deeper into the cave, passing many wooden doors marked with various numbers. There is only one prison in Eris, but it is comprised of twenty-two levels. The more dangerous prisoners are held at the very bottom of the prison, while the minor misdemeanors are held at the top.

Delos is in the twenty-second level. Gillian takes a deep breath, summons a small orb of amber witch-fire, and begins to descend the wet, echoing tunnel.

It gets slightly warmer when she passes the seventeenth level, but only just. Now her teeth are chattering from the cold. _Tora was right. I should have worn a fourth layer._

Hah. Too late now, hon.

Lungs slightly aching from the elevation and ears humming from the altitude, she passes the twenty-first and continues on her way, her footsteps still eerily silent. The rooms are made up of three cells, each of which can hold four people; one cell is made for humans and witches, the other shapeshifters, and the last vampires.

She reaches the twenty-second door and opens it a crack so she can peek through. The werewolf guard is sleeping—perfectly reasonable, as it is three-twenty-six in the morning. He is sitting back in his chair, breathing deeply, his feet propped up on the table. A single candle burns at a stub across from his shoes.

But what _really_ interests her is the single gilt key hanging on his belt. Gillian slowly pushes the door open and steps inside.

Poppy jumps to her feet the moment she sees Gillian, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. James and Delos look up from their place on the floor. Gillian grins at them both, raises a finger to her lips, and looks at the human cell. What she sees almost makes her heart stop.

Maggie Neely is curled up into a fetal position, her shoulders barely moving. Her lips are stark white and pale sweat shines on her face. Hypothermia. And there's an inflamed cut on the base of her throat that looks infected. Oh, Goddess. This is worse than she thought. Gillian's eyes widen and she moves into action.

Creeping on her tiptoes to avoid the guard, she carefully reaches under him for the key on his belt. It jangles as she makes a grab for it, and she inhales sharply, staring up at the werewolf with wide lilac eyes.

He smells her before he sees her. His nostrils flare, just a little bit, and then his eyes snap open. The chair he is sitting on falls forward, and he gets to his feet. In one sudden movement, he gets down on all fours and whips around to snarl at Gillian.

"_No_," hisses Poppy. She clings to the wooden bars in her cell and glares at the guard as if she is trying to give him a hemorrhage.

Whatever she does, it works.

The guard's face crumples and he stands up, leaning against a glistening rock wall for support. "What—" he mumbles, speech slurred as if he is drunk. Poppy's brow furrows, and he pitches sideways to slump against the wall and slide into a heap on the floor.

Gillian stares at Poppy, mouth open. "How—what did you—_huh?_"

"I'll explain later," says Poppy, her green eyes flashing in the dark. James and Delos climb to their feet. "But you need to get us out."

"Right." Gillian moves to the side of the werewolf and stares down at him, frowning. "I'm going to have to kill him. He saw me."

"So do it, then," says Delos, his golden eyes a dark shade of amber in the candlelight. Gillian closes her eyes and plunges the silver dagger into the guard's heart. He spasms once and falls still.

_Oh, Goddess of life, receive this guy into the next world . . ._

When her prayer is done, she takes the key from him and unlocks Maggie's cell first. "What are you doing?" James asks when she kneels next to the human. At the same time, Delos snarls, "Don't touch her!"

"Both of you, shut up," Gillian snaps in a hushed whisper, tossing the keys to the next cell. She sheathes the silver dagger in her belt and takes Maggie's hand in hers as the vampires free themselves.

She presses Maggie's hand to her forehead and thinks of sunshine. Of Florida, bright and muggy and _hot_. She imagines warmth and rosy lips and flushed cheeks. _Send the heat through her body; recover from the hypothermia_, she tells Maggie's brain. _You are warming up. You are not cold._

In just a few minutes, Maggie's lips turn a mottled blue instead of white, and her eyes flutter open. "Wha?" she mumbles, her voice thick.

Delos kneels next to her, looking as if he is afraid she will break if he touches her. "Maggie—" he begins.

That is when the witch sees the bracer on his arm and she blanches. _Damn_ it. Maya already made sure he couldn't use his powers.

She pinches her nose to keep from getting too frustrated and stands up. "We don't have time for this," she says, and points to Delos. "You, carry her, but try not to touch bare skin. She's suffering from hypothermia, and vampire body temperature will only make it worse. If we don't move now, Tora will think something went wrong and leave."

Delos nods and picks his soulmate up bridal-style. Gillian, Maggie and the vampires leave the cell and run up the stairs without looking back. No one leaves the other cell blocks to see what is going on.

Once they are safe on the mountainside, Poppy jumps her. "Gillian!" she squeals. "You're so . . . _old_!"

"I'm only in my twenties," she grumbles, but she smiles at Poppy to show she's just teasing. They had been friends back when Circle Daybreak still stood a chance against Maya. Poppy giggles nonetheless and shakes her head, her red curls standing out against the darkness. "So . . . before you got captured, what were you doing?"

"Hanging out in Montana," the pixie-like vampire says, her grin widening. "It was fun. It's a beautiful place, but what I _really_ liked was all the grizzlies."

"You only say that because they put up a fight," calls James from the back. Poppy laughs, but doesn't reply to him. After a moment, she squeezes her friend's shoulder and returns to her soulmate's side.

Snowflakes swirl around them, and her boots go ankle-deep in the frozen wasteland. When she sees a rock with a dahlia scratched on it, Gillian glances over her shoulder to look at Delos.

"Is she good?"

"Yes," says Delos without looking up. Gillian stops suddenly and turns to face them, a sad smile on her face. She brings her hands together and pulls them apart quickly, and amber-colored fire blossoms in her hands. After five seconds of burning, she cups her hands over her mouth, and the fire is extinguished.

"Good. We're at the base of the mountain. Hopefully Tora hasn't left. She's a tiger shapeshifter and she's been here longer than I have. Just keep your heads down and let her do the talking. When you get to safety, she'll give you some supplies. It . . . it was good to see you all again." Her eyes water with hot tears and her smile wavers. "It's nice to see that not all of my friends are dead."

Poppy springs forward and hugs her. "Thank you, Jill," she says when she pulls back. A shape suddenly morphs from the darkness and throws back a black hood. Gillian summons some amber fire again, and Tora's angular, coffee-colored face is highlighted in the shadows of the flames.

"I am Tora," she says, her yellow eyes burning gold in the firelight. "You must be the Wild Power and his friends."

"Yeah," says James. "I'm—"

Tora holds up a hand, cutting him off. "Not interested. Gillian and I will be drinking a potion to forget this happened, anyway."

"_What_?" gapes Poppy. Gillian smiles and extinguishes her witch fire.

"Safety measures," the beautiful shapeshifter says, pulling her black hair up into a ponytail to keep it out of her face. "Maya will interrogate all of Eris when she discovers you four are gone and your guard is dead. Now, are you ready to go?"

The vampires exchange a look and nod. Tora turns to go without a further word. When Delos brushes by her, Gillian's hand shoots out and grabs his arm. "Wait."

Delos regards her out of the corner of his eyes, making her bite her lip. "My soulmate. His name is David Blackburn, and he's in the Raleigh ghetto. If you're ever in the area . . ."

"We'll get him," Delos replies shortly. He readjusts his grip on Maggie and makes a move to follow the rest of the group, but Gillian calls after him.

"Delos. If you get that brace off of your arm . . . if we live, and you gather all of the Wild Powers who aren't dead, and we somehow win this thing—" she bites her lip and shudders from the cold, but hurries on, "—make sure you kick Maya's ass for me, okay?"

Delos turns around, his golden gaze meeting hers. He nods and, without another word, turns around to catch up with Poppy and James.

"Merry part," whispers Gillian. _Good luck, guys._

* * *

_September 2, 2006_

A wintry breeze wafts past those who make up the population of Eris. Snowflakes dance across the sky and gently fall to the cobbled courtyard, giving the place a pristine "winter wonderland" look. Weak sunlight shines through the clouds marring the sky, highlighting every crisp part of the city.

It is the perfect day for an execution.

She stands on a pristine marble scaffold in the middle of the day, her kaleidoscope eyes swirling different colors and her black hair shimmering all around her. The crowd in front of her mills about, shivering in the cold. Eris is in the mountains, after all, and it is always winter there.

She likes it that way, too. The leader of the crew points at her, and she knows that her face is plastered across every screen in every ghetto, House, prison and neighborhood in the world.

Maya smiles triumphantly at the cameras. "Hello, hello, everyone. I am Maya, your Queen. And I have some very important news for you."

She steps away to reveal the figure behind her. Delos Redfern kneels in the snow, his golden eyes wide and fearful. His chin rests on a freezing black block, and his hands are bound by wooden handcuffs to poles on either side of him. The cameras move down to show the wooden sword in her hand.

A practiced gasp travels through the crowd, making her smile widen. They've known about Delos for months. But the rest of the world has just found out.

"This is to all remaining Circle Daybreak members," she begins, her voice still sugary-sweet. "This is to all those who hope for a return to human rule. Let it be known that _this_ is what happens to those who those who defy my authority. Delos Redfern," she says, turning around. Delos's eyes bulge, but he makes no response. "You are a traitor to the New Kingdom and to all of the Night World. You aided the humans and the vermin-lovers known as Circle Daybreak during the War."

The prince makes no sound. Maya stalks toward him until she is right next to him. "How do you plead?" she whispers, poking his side with the stick. It is merely a gentle nudge, but the wood is so sharp it goes right between his ribs.

Delos screams. Maya's eyes flit to the brace on his arm and smiles. So he still has it on. Good. He wouldn't be able to use the blue fire against her next time. She twists the wood a little, making him scream again. It is a horrible, grating sound that makes more than a few in the crowd wince—yet it is like music to Maya's ears.

_Let him see. Let him see the consequences of his actions._

After another moment, she pulls the wood out, and Delos collapses against the beheading block, breathing hard. Maya looks straight at the cameras. "This is your beloved prince," she sneers. "Look at him. A sniveling coward."

Delos's eyes do not stray from the snow-dusted ground in front of him. Maya blinks a snowflake out of her eye and strides forward, addressing the crowd in front of her. "But," she shouts, "as I am a benevolent queen, I will show mercy on him."

Scattered applause goes through the mass. But she knows that vampires all over the world will be celebrating her rule. A Wild Power, to _them_, is dead at last. Now Circle Daybreak will never come back to threaten their rule. She returns to Delos's side and raises the wooden sword. "Do you have any last words?" she asks.

"Please . . ." His words come out in a half-strangled whisper. Delos's eyes flit to hers and return to the spot of snow in front of him.

"So be it," she says. The sword makes a whistling noise as it cuts through the air. The next moment, it makes a solid thunk noise as it saws through bone and muscle and sinews and connects with the beheading block.

Black-red blood sprays the snow, staining it scarlet. The crowd is absolutely silent. Maya bows her head, allowing her hair to cover her face to hide the wicked grin. "May the traitor see a fitting end," she announces, trying to sound solemn. After a moment, she raises her head and smiles. "_Now_ my rule is eternal."

The cameraman gives another signal, and they turn their devices off. Snow drifts silently down, and the crowd begins to file out to return to their chores. When the courtyard is empty and Maya is the only one who remains, she bends down and picks up Delos's head. She'll have to burn the body—alone.

Glamours wear off rather quickly.


	4. iv: birds of a feather

So this idea just came to me, and I went with it. And this is the only time I'm going to say this, but... feedback is appreciated, guys. It helps get me inspired to write more. Do you like this story? Hate it? Anything I'm doing wrong? If you favorite this, what made you favorite it? Let me know, please. That's the first and only time you'll see this in this story. :) Also, this one is beta'd by the lovely **Faded Classic**.

* * *

**iv.  
birds of a feather**

* * *

_"We are sisters. We will always be sisters. Our differences may never go away, but neither, for me, will our song."  
__~ Elizabeth Fishel_

* * *

What happened to you, sister?

When did your kaleidoscope eyes become tainted with madness? When did your thirst for blood corrupt your senses? When did you stray off of the path of the Goddess for the path of evil?

When did I realize I didn't know you anymore?

These are questions that will never be answered. I fear they are questions I don't _want_ answered.

And yet I stand by your side as you watch the world burn, as I have always stood by you. It's what younger sisters are for, after all. But just because I support you does not mean I _support_ you. I may stand by your side, but your rule disgusts me.

Because you are mad. A lunatic, driven by pride and bloodlust. I see you with all of those men. They are your pawns, but you are also wrapped around their fingers. Don't think I don't see how you stare at yourself in the mirror in the mornings. Don't think I miss your morning pep talks, and the mask you wear in front of others.

Are the years finally getting to you? I think they are. I _know_ they are.

I am your sister. I know you, inside and out.

And it is because I am your sister that I sit by your side and comfort you when your insecurities get the best of you. I know your fears about John Quinn. I know why you take Meraux into your bed (he looks like Theorn, doesn't he?). I know why you suck the life out of my children and humans alike, instead of taking just enough to satisfy your thirst and nothing more.

Sometimes I wish that you could hear the dead, and thus know what I think of you. But my words fall on deaf ears, no matter how loudly I scream.

You are a fool. A power-hungry madwoman. Your thirst for blood drives you to commit terrible crimes, even though our mother's teachings are ingrained into your brain as much as mine.

Remember Mother, sister? You adored her, once. Ever since I was old enough to remember, I remember your love for the power she held in the tribe. I remember you half-hiding behind her skirts as she drove out the dragons and saved the world from becoming a fiery hell.

But you had no interest in how to use that power properly, or how to earn it. You wanted the quick and easy way to gain control over others.

I suppose that should've been the first warning sign.

But we were blind, Mother and I; she didn't even question you when you started reading the Dark Books. I remember how you frightened me with your talks of eternal beauty and youth.

During one of those conversations, I had stubbornly recited Mother's teachings on immortality, and I remember how you patted me on the head, like I was some common dog. "Don't worry, sister," you had told me. "You're too gentle to be an immortal."

And then, when we were twenty, the newborns of the tribe disappeared. Mother was too weak to investigate, so the task fell to me. I used my own Iluna for bait, and it still remains one of my deepest regrets to this day.

I had asked you to watch her, for I was going on an important trip to a neighboring clan. You had agreed with a smile that scared me, even though you knew that I had been lying. You've always been good at that.

As soon as I left the tent, I had hidden and watched and waited. Sure enough, when the rest of the tribe was sleeping, you snuck out of my tent with my baby in your arms.

Nothing in the world could have stopped me from killing you that moment. You _betrayed_ me, sister. Do you realize that? I defended you from the villagers, and you thanked me by attempting to murder my child.

The only thing that kept me from summoning my witch-fire and burning you to a crisp was Mother. That, and the fact that you were my sister. So instead I used my powers to rescue Iluna and drive you into the tall-grassed steppes to the east of our village.

It was only when Theorn burst out of his grave and killed Conlan that I realized what you had done to my people. And, foolish as I was, I summoned you from the steppes and tried to reason with you. Mother was dead by that time, and the leadership of the clan had fallen to me.

You refused me, of course. I can't tell you why it surprised me so much. "Theorn is mine," you had said to me. "Stay out of my business, sister."

With that, you had melted back into the steppes, leaving me with a bruised and puzzled heart.

Theorn came to me days later. He'd found his soulmate, sister, did you know? She had been proof that he wasn't yours. But I'm sure you _did_ know that, and you chose to disregard it. You never give up, sister. It is both a redeeming and a damning quality of yours.

Theorn asked me to give him something to make him sleep until his soulmate appeared again. I obliged him, and he made sure that you would never find him. My patience with you was thinning, sister. Could you tell? Perhaps you could, and you chose to overlook it.

But I should have known that it was too late by then.

Months after you took to the steppes, months after Theorn had fallen asleep, you returned with a man named Grinnel and an infant son named Red Fern. Both of them were like you—creatures not created by the Goddess, but by dark magics; creatures that were greedy for blood and death.

The tribe did not want to take you in, even though you begged and pleaded. _I_ had not wanted to take you in.

_The steppes are no place to raise a child_, you had said. _Red Fern needs a safe place to grow up in and call home._

And even though you were unwelcome, I welcomed you. Because you were my sister, and normal sisters do not give up on each other. (But, then again, I suppose we never were _normal_ sisters, were we?)

I thought parenthood would change you. I thought you would give up on your quest for power and focus instead on raising your son. But, as usual, you discarded my hopes and replaced them with your desires.

You did not raise your Red Fern like I raised my Iluna. You treated him like a pawn; you filled his head with stories of dragons and conquerors and empires. You told him that he was better than the other children of the tribe, that you would make sure he rose to prominence here, just watch and see.

I would close my eyes to your words and dismiss them as mere tales. After everything we'd been through, after everything I'd done for you, you _surely_ would not attempt to usurp my role as leader of the tribe.

You were my sister, blood of my blood, and I was willing to forgive your crimes. I ignored my advisors begging me to drive you and your creations out of our tribe.

_The Mother Goddess is angry with us_, they said. _The only way she will be appeased is if we drive the monsters away._

I waved them off. I turned a blind eye whenever I found you stirring up the people with speeches of how you could lead them to become the greatest race the world has ever known. I did it because I was your sister, and I foolishly believed that sisterhood overcame anything.

Shame on me for choosing to disregard the warning signs. Shame on me for failing to notice how certain members of the tribe would grow weaker and weaker, then disappear for a day or so and come back as a creature of darkness. Shame on me for allowing you to twist our once peaceful tribe into a dark den of cruel monsters.

My hope—and my trust—in you shattered when I found you trying to turn Iluna against me. That was when my patience snapped. You had gone too far, sister.

Even now, you never know when to stop. When will you realize that John Quinn is miserable, even when living in exquisite finery? When will you realize that Meraux is using you just as much as you are using him? When will you realize that you are leading the world to its destruction?

Never, I suppose. Because my words fall on deaf ears, because you only see what you want to see, and because you would pay no heed to my words even if you could _hear_ me.

I don't think you know this, so I will tell you now. Our battle broke my heart. I had not wanted to fight you, sister; even if you aggravated and aggrieved me, you and I were still family. Families are not supposed to be driven apart by greed and fear . . . but ours was.

I had not wanted to hurt you. But you forced my hand. You were a destructive, murdering madwoman. And though you killed me, I was able to rest in peace knowing I had finally driven you out of my people's lives forever. Sisters should not delight in doing such things to their blood. But I did, and you did; we both know it. No point in denying it.

We _relished_ in hurting each other during that fight. Why?

Why—and how—were we torn apart? We had been inseparable when we were children.

Was it when you had your first glimpse of the dragons? Was it when you saw what they could do to our home that you first took interest in the wicked arts?

I don't know. Perhaps I never will. But even if this is the last time we see each other, know that I am your sister. You may have forgotten it, but I have not. We are sisters, and our bond is eternal.

I speak these words because this is the last time I will listen to your rants. I will not stand by your side and watch as you destroy the remains of your soul further. No longer will I comfort you when the memories haunt your mind or when the insecurities drive you into the arms of foreign men.

This is my farewell, sister. I loved you, as all youth love their role models. You were my hero, once. No longer.

My admiration for you died when you turned to the darkness and cursed your soul forever.

At the time, there was nothing I could do.

But the old powers are awakening, sister. I will come back. The day will come when you will pay for your sins—against me, against Mother, against the world. The day will come when you will feel pain as you have never felt pain.

You will beg for mercy and plead for me to step in and save you, as you did whenever Mother caught you doing something forbidden. The day will come when you will look up, expecting me to side with you—

And when that day comes, I will not be there.


	5. v: light a way

[**A/N**] So if you've been wondering just where the _heck_ I've been for these past few months, I have a legitimate answer for you. I was writing a multi-chaptered story called **saints & sinners**. The first chapter is up now, and it's set in the same universe as the darkest light. The good news is that S&S is 100% complete, so now I can focus on this oneshot series once more. But I do hope that you check S&S out, because I'm very proud of it. :)

* * *

**light a way**

* * *

_light a way on my love  
light a way from above  
shine it down, lead me home  
back to him_

* * *

_October 1999_

They find him while they are hunting. He is lying on a bed of dead leaves, his pure white coat standing out against the rich browns, golds and crimsons of Briar Creek's fallen oak and maple leaves. Sunlight dapples his fur.

Kestrel can smell the were in him and wants to kill him immediately. Jade wants to leave him in peace. However, something draws Rowan to the slumbering snow-white wolf, and she darts over to stand above it. Slowly, she extends a foot and prods it with her toe.

The wolf's eyes open, and he stands up, snarling. But his legs can't support his weight, and he falls back on the dead leaves, sending them fluttering in the air. Rowan catches a golden oak leaf and frowns when she sees blood smeared across it. "He's hurt."

Kestrel snorts, her golden eyes cold and unflinching. "He's a werewolf. Probably working for the dragons."

The wolf snarls slightly and tries to stand up, but fails again. Rowan glares at her sister. "If we leave him to die, we're no better than those dogs running rampant on the streets."

She crouches down and looks the wolf in the eye, slowly extending her hand. The werewolf chuffs and strains forward, his nose brushing along her palm. The sensation sends tickles up her arm, and she smiles. "We won't hurt you," she promises. "If you can change into your human form, we can help you to our home."

The werewolf bares his teeth and tries to stand up again, and Rowan sees that his entire left shoulder is bathed in blood, and there is shrapnel of silver embedded in his skin, keeping the wound from closing. Rowan darts over to his bad side, too quickly for him to see, and takes out one of the pieces of silver. The wolf howls and collapses, making Rowan wince.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, extending her hands. "But this would be so much easier if you were human. I can try to get the others out, but you might get infected here in the woods." The wolf stares at her with fathomless black eyes and bumps her palm with his snout. He glances at her sisters, looks back at her, and nudges her hand again.

Oh. Rowan sits up and says, "Kestrel, Jade, go home and prepare a room for our visitor. I'll help him here."

Kestrel sighs; Jade smiles because Mark is waiting for them back at the house. But both of them comply, and they are gone in an instant. Rowan turns back to the wolf and sees his fur already melting into human skin the color of mocha. His eyes and hair are the color of obsidian. The man wears a pair of bloodied jeans and nothing else.

In his human form, the damage is even worse. She can see pink scars across his torso that are in the process of healing, and bone peeks out from his shoulder. Leaves stick to his skin and flutter away only when they catch a breeze in the clearing. Normally, Rowan would be disgusted, but now she is merely concerned.

"What happened to you?" she whispers. The man looks away from the bloodied bed of leaves below him and scowls, refusing to meet her gaze.

"There's a small werewolf pack in northern California. A wolf from my pack met her mate there, and they decided to marry. I went to the pack to attend the ceremony. On my way back, mutts working for the dragons attacked me. I killed them and got away, but eventually . . . I couldn't cope with the blood loss any longer. Then you leeches came."

Rowan bites back a retort and instead shakes her head. "I'm sorry you feel that way about us, and that you were attacked. But my sisters and I will take care of you. When you're healed, you can return to your pack. Put your arm around my neck."

He grudgingly does so, and she takes a hold of his hand. Suddenly, a shiver goes up her spine, and her fingers begin to tingle. The man feels it as well, and they look at each other with wide-eyed surprise. Rowan abruptly realizes that they are close—almost too close, and his body heat makes her arms prickle.

"What's your name?" he whispers. The noises of the forest drown out as Rowan's vision slowly turns pink, and all she can focus on is him.

"Rowan Redfern. Yours?"

"Zev Lowell."

Their meeting is the beginning of the Redfern family's tragic future.

* * *

_May 16, 2000_

Rowan's soft brown eyes dance in the sunlight as Jade attaches the last flower in her lace mantilla veil. "There," she declares in a whisper, her green eyes glittering with tears. "You're so beautiful, Rowan."

"If that mutt hurts you, Rowan," says Ash good-naturedly, adjusting his tuxedo, "don't hesitate to call me. I'll train him to be a good dog."

Rowan looks down at her embroidered white lace gown, then frowns at Ash. "Behave. Please?"

"Hey, anything for my sister," he says, just as cheerful. But Rowan has always been good at reading him, and she can see the longing and sorrow in his eyes as he glances over her wedding dress. She hasn't forgotten that he and Mare planned to have a summer wedding underneath the stars this year, so she merely stands on her tiptoes pecks him on the cheek.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispers in his ear. Ash raises a pale blond eyebrow, but says nothing. Rowan smiles and tucks her hand into the crook of his arm, butterflies fluttering around in her stomach.

Jade claps her hands. "Time to go!" she says. Ash picks her up, and the two of them run to the middle of the forest where the ceremony is going to be held.

Mark is waiting for them, and he gives a signal to someone up ahead. Music begins to play from around the corner. Ash sets Rowan down on a bed of pine needles and smirks, holding out his arm again. Mark takes Jade's hand and the two leave to take their seats. Rowan and Ash are left standing underneath a pair of Douglas firs.

"Ready?" asks Ash. Rowan, breathless from her unexpected ride, nods and takes her brother's proffered arm.

"I'm so nervous," she whispers as they turn the corner and start to head down the aisle. Zev Lowell waits for her, his dark eyes shining as he watches her walk toward him. Rowan bites her lip and digs her nails into her brother's arm, feeling her heartbeat quicken with every step.

Ash begins to crack jokes to relieve the tension, and Rowan is smiling when she finally stops in front of Zev. He takes her hands in his, and she steps forward. The witch officiating the ceremony begins to wrap their hands together with red string, and Ash takes his seat.

They look at each other and begin to say their vows. "With this string," they tell each other—Zev proud and confident, Rowan quiet but determined—"I bind you to me, for all time. Together, now and forever, we are entwined. Nothing but death will separate me from you. With this solemn vow, I firmly say that you are my love, to stand by my side, to support me in all that I do—"

Zev continues, but Rowan stops, the smell of smoke stinging her nostrils. "Do you smell that?" she whispers, and everyone gapes at her. No one stops in the middle of a Promising—ever. If one stops, it's a sign that the marriage is not meant to be.

Zev, perturbed, takes a whiff—and bristles. "Fire," he announces. The band stops playing, and they all turn to look for any fire around them.

A shape emerges from the pine forest in front of them. It is a werewolf, holding a box of matches—one of which has already been lit. Rowan recognizes him as Lyall, one of the less important members of Zev's pack.

"Lyall, put the match down," Zev orders. Everyone holds their breath. Dried pine needles have been scattered across the ground for decoration. If the fire touches it, the whole place goes up in flames. Rowan clings to Zev, watching Lyall with wide brown eyes.

Lyall stares at Zev, his blue eyes stormy. He glares at Rowan and spits at the sight of her. "I'm sorry, Alpha, but I can't do that—"

Zev's liquid black eyes gleam gold as he issues an Alpha order. "As pack alpha, I _order_ you to extinguish that match immediately."

Lyall doesn't move, and the whole crowd sucks in a breath. Any wolf is forced to obey their Alpha's commands, with only two exceptions—the wolf has gone rogue, or a stronger magic is controlling them.

Lyall avoids his gaze, closes his eyes and continues, "But for too long I have stood by in silence! I thought the vampire was a mere toy for you. I didn't think that you would marry her! Do you know how vampires _treat_ us? Maya told me that our pack would be better if we got rid of her, and I agree with her! I'm sorry, Alpha, but for the sake of this pack—for the sake of our future—I _cannot _let you marry this parasite."

He kneels down and puts the burning match on a bed of pine needles before anyone can get to him, and the clearing erupts in flames. Kestrel is the first one to act. She hisses and lunges for the werewolf, scattering matches everywhere.

When Kestrel moves, it's like a hidden signal for something, because countless werewolves emerge from the forest. Rowan can't tell if they're Maya's goons or a part of Zev's pack, but it doesn't matter—because they attack.

Rowan is frozen to the spot, staring, as her husband-to-be changes into a wolf and attacks. The whole place has turned to chaos, and she grips the red Promising string in her hands, too stunned to move. Her feet feel like lead and she abruptly feels lightheaded. Her dream wedding has turned into a nightmare.

Someone rams into from the side her, and she goes sprawling, landing a foot away from an open blaze. The fire catches onto the hem of her dress, and suddenly Rowan is on fire. Flames lick at her legs, arms and face, and agony courses through her veins. She screams her throat raw, watching her flesh turn red underneath the heat of the inferno.

Before the smoke suffocates her, someone scoops her up and runs to the only river on Zev's property. Her burning dress is extinguished as Rowan is dumped into a chilly relief from the searing pain. When she comes up from the river, Ash is staring at her with stormy gray eyes.

His tuxedo is torn in places, bloody in others, but the universal damage to his outfit is the singe marks. Blaise Harman is by his side, her beautiful features etched into a frown, her bright red dress impeccable despite the fire raging behind them.

She shakes her hair out and sneers. "That mutt was an imbecile. If he couldn't tell that Maya was manipulating him, then he is clearly one special _nutcase_—"

"Ash," Rowan whispers. She breaks into a fit of coughing from the smoke she's inhaled. Ash looks at Blaise and puts his hand on her arm.

"Do you have something that will relieve the burns?"

"I don't know," said Blaise. "They look far too severe for any of my salves. But it's worth a shot."

Rowan begins to shiver and cry at the same time. Ash lifts her from the river and they begin to head for the safety of Zev's lodge. Rowan passes out from the pain on the way there.

* * *

_February 2001_

Ash sits by her bedside, holding her cold and clammy hand. Zev stands next to a window, staring at the pine forest surrounding the Black Dahlia Hospital. Golden sunlight spills onto the floor through the windows, but he is not included in its light. "Maybe it's a sign," he says.

Ash peels his eyes away from Rowan's face. His eyes are a pale brown, as if they are tired of constantly changing colors. His hair shimmers gold in the sunlight. "What is?"

"You two are included in the sunlight. I'm not," he says, gesturing to his shadow.

Ash sighs and brushes her hair away from her face. "Zev," he mutters, "You can't blame yourself for what happened."

Zev glares at him. "Can't I? Why do you care? I'm only werewolf _scum_ to you."

Ash's eyes turn a flat black, and he looks down at her hands. "No one deserves to experience what I've gone through, no matter their race," he replies, his voice merely a soft whisper. "Except maybe Meraux. But you? No. She loved you, Zev."

He snorts at Ash's use of past tense, and he gestures to the IV in a corner. "She's still alive."

Ash narrows his eyes. "She's a vegetable, and we both know it. Rowan's not going to wake up anytime soon, Zev. It's been over half a year. You need to resume control of your pack again, or else they'll forget what your face looks like."

"Dante is doing a fine job of managing the pack. Rowan's more important." The Werewolf King turns around and sits on Rowan's other side, picking up her other hand and rubbing it to warm it up.

Ash stands up and starts pacing, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "God _damn_ it, Lowell, are you listening to yourself? Before you met Rowan, your life was devoted to your pack. Now—you aren't even paying attention to yourself. Jade says you're not eating. All you do is stay in this room."

Zev chuckles. "Are you worried about me now, Mom?"

"Don't patronize me." Ash's eyes turn the color of blue glacier ice. "You need to take care of yourself. What if you starve? What happens if Rowan wakes up and—"

"She'll wake up. It's not a matter of if, but when." Zev glares at the vampire. "Stay out of my life, Redfern. You don't know what I'm going through—"

Ash snarls. "_Don't know what you're going through? _Are you _kidding_ me?"

"How can you say that you _really_ cared for your little human when we all know you spend your time _screwing_ that Harman—"

Ash reacts before he thinks. He lunges for the werewolf, grabs him by the throat, and throws him headfirst into the wall. Zev changes into his pure white wolf form halfway and lands on his feet, his hackles rising. The wolf bares its teeth, revealing black gums and yellow fangs. Ash bares his own fangs and uncurls his fists, eager for a fight.

"_Boys!_"

Ash turns around to see Blaise holding a bowl of Rowan's anti-burn salve. She raises a perfectly-plucked black eyebrow, her gray eyes—_gray_, Ash reminds himself, _the opposite of blue_—as clear and colorless as a winter's day.

"Oh, don't mind me," she says acerbically, sashaying over to Rowan's bedside and sitting down. She takes a handful of the ointment and begins to rub it all over the woman's burnt body. "I just wanted to alert you that there were ladies present before you continued your little catfight."

Zev growls and shifts back into his human form. Ash narrows his eyes at him and raises a finger. "You leave Blaise out of this," he warns. Blaise chuckles softly and continues her treatment. Zev's black eyes lift to meet his, and he turns around to stare at the pine forest once more.

Blaise is the first one to break the silence when she says, "I already packed."

Ash swallows and glances up at the ceiling. "Okay. I should go do that."

Zev starts and looks over his shoulder. "Packed? Are you two leaving?"

"Oh, now he cares," mutters Ash. Blaise shakes out her hair, massages cream into Rowan's scarred hands, and stares at the werewolf.

"Lady Hannah has asked us to hunt down Iona Skelton to collect her pictures. She's making a case to the United Nations in May, because they still refuse to believe that the Apocalypse is happening. They think terrorists are responsible for the attacks on the cities. Ash and I leave in a week."

Zev clenches his jaw and turns around, staring out the window at the evergreen forest. "What about Rowan?"

"Jade went to that academy so she could be a doctor, right? She's a big girl. I've taught her how to apply the cream correctly, and I've made enough to last for at least two years." Blaise holds up one of Rowan's scarred, pink-tinted hands—all reminders of the burns she suffered last summer. "Though I doubt she's going to get any better than this."

Zev closes his eyes. Ash walks to the door and waits for the witch. After a moment, Blaise finishes applying the treatment and stands up, sauntering away without a backwards glance.

When they are gone, Zev looks at Rowan, who hasn't moved in half a year. He stands in front of the window for hours, deep in thought. He only moves when the door opens and Jade comes in, ready to check Rowan's vitals and bringing Zev's bagged lunch—the same ritual she does every day.

As she is propping the pillows up, Zev grabs his lunch and looks at Jade. "If she wakes up . . ." he trails off. Jade glances at him with warm green eyes.

"You'll be the first to know," she assures. That is all he needs. He bends down and kisses Rowan's forehead, then turns around and walks out of the room.

* * *

_May 3, 2016_

The door opens and closes with a soft _click_, and a woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and determined brown eyes slips inside the room. Rowan Redfern lies in her bed, her breathing soft and even. The only difference between now and when she first fell into a coma is that her body has aged, as she hasn't been awake to regulate her aging.

The woman locks the door behind her and walks to Rowan's bedside, sticking her hands in her coat pockets and examining the woman in front of her. Then she glances up at the moon and smiles slowly.

She takes her hands out of her pockets and starts humming a soft tune under her breath. The engagement ring's diamond stone and the woman's fingertips glow lavender.

She starts above Rowan's face and works her way downward. As her glowing fingers pass over Rowan's skin, burnt flesh begins to shift. The puckers began to even out, and the dead scars along her arms start peeling away to reveal shiny pink tissue underneath.

The woman's wordless hymns grow louder, and her fingers turn red as they return to Rowan's face. She puts her hands on the vampire's head and closes her eyes, concentrating.

Someone knocks on the door. "Who's in there?" Jade says from behind the door. The woman's hymns grow faster as she sends waves of energy through her fingertips into Rowan's body. The IV machine begins to beep erratically, and Jade's calls grow more frantic.

Suddenly, the woman's eyes open, and she takes her hands off and steps away, staring at Rowan. "This has to work," she mutters under her breath, lifting her eyes to the moon. "Hecate, hear my plea."

One minute trickles by, and nothing happens. The woman is about to re-administer her spell when the IV slows down and Rowan's eyes flutter open. Her engagement ring shines lilac in the darkness. She groans, turns her head, and rests her gaze on the woman.

"Who are you?" she whispers, squinting. The woman grins and steps forward, dropping a bag on Rowan's lap.

"Call me Elle. I'm a friend. Now, I have a message for you, but I have to hurry, as—well, you know." She nods to the door, where Jade is rattling the doorknob and threatening to bust down the door. She grabs Rowan's left hand and shows her the glimmering ring. "This has been imbued with magic. You need to find Zev for me."

Rowan's brow furrows. "Who's Zev?" she croaks, coughing to clear her throat.

Elle's heart sinks, but she swallows her disappointment and says, "He's also a friend. This ring will grow brighter the closer you are to him. Change into these clothes," she pats the bag on Rowan's lap, "and go find him. When you do, remember me. Something big is about to happen, and I intend to be there for it. Remember me for this, because I'm calling in a favor for it. Okay?"

Rowan takes the clothes out of the bag and stares at them, silent. Jade is pounding on the door now, and Elle has no doubt that she will, in fact, break it down. "Go look for Zev after I'm gone," she says, clasping Rowan's hand.

Rowan blinks, and the woman turns around to head for the door. Just as Jade is ready to kick it down, she unlocks the door, opens it, and bolts down the hallway. Jade cries out for security and chases her, leaving Rowan in the room—alone.

Rowan slowly sits up, winces at the pain in her abdomen, and flexes all of her muscles. Everything is sore, but the ache is bearable. She stretches again and gradually swings her legs over the side of the bed. The hospital tile is freezing, and she glances inside the bag to check out the clothes that the woman got for her.

Using her ring as her light, she changes out of the scratchy hospital gown into a warm sweater, jeans and boots. They all fit as if they are made specifically for her, but Rowan doesn't complain. She makes the hospital bed and glances around, closing her eyes as a headache begins to set in.

When the throbbing in her head fades, she opens her eyes and leaves her room. The hallway is empty, and the bright yellow lights hurt her eyes. She waits a moment, adjusting to her surroundings, then looks at the ring. Maybe if it would lead her to Zev, it would take her out of the hospital.

She turns left, and the ring's shine dims until it is nearly extinguished. She frowns and turns right, and the ring's lavender glow springs to life. Rowan smiles and goes right until she finds a staircase, using the ring to navigate her way out of the hospital.

She only runs into four nurses on her way out, but none of them pay her any attention. No one tries to stop her as she walks out of the automatic doors and into the natural world outside.

Rowan twirls her ring and glances up at the crescent moon. "Find Zev," she murmurs to herself. Who is Zev, and why does Elle think he's so important? Why should she even bother finding him, anyway?

_Don't be rude, Rowan_, a voice chides in her head. _She woke you up, so you could at least do her this favor._

Rowan glances down at her ring and nods, turning left. The ring's bright glow seems to grow more vivid, and she sets off, trying to make sense of her life. As she walks through the forest, eventually reaching a paved asphalt street, pieces are starting to fit together like a puzzle.

She knows that she had been getting married—to whom, she's not quite sure. Then there was a fire, and a white wolf, and blinding pain—but other than that, she's clueless.

Maybe Zev has the answers, she thinks. Maybe that's why I need to find him.

She looks down at her ring and sees that its pale lavender light is so intense it's almost white.

She wanders the town all night until it is nearly sunrise, when she notices that the ring is shining too brightly to look at and stops to survey her surroundings. She is in front of a large mansion built within the cover of the forest. All she can smell is pine needles, fresh water, and . . . some sort of musk that makes her nose wrinkle.

Taking another glance at her ring, she puts her hand on the wrought-iron gate barring the yard from the street and steps inside the property. The ring grows even brighter, and she walks toward the house.

To her surprise, the front door is unlocked. She steps inside the house and immediately sees a figure in the hallway up ahead, sitting at a table, staring out the window to watch the sun rise.

She builds up her courage and steps into the room. "Excuse me," she whispers. The man turns around, revealing a tired face with endless black eyes, and he freezes. "I'm sorry. I'm looking for . . . Zev?"

The man blinks and stands up, walking toward her. Rowan stays rooted to the spot as he reaches out and touches her face. Electricity runs down her spine, and she suddenly feels dizzy. "Rowan," he whispers, awed. "You're awake."

"Do you know where Zev is? I'm looking for him."

The man's face falls. "Rowan . . . _I'm_ Zev."

As she stares at him, her head begins to pound, and she sits down in one of the dining chairs, holding her head. White light and faces flash behind her eyes, and she squeezes her eyes shut. The visions end abruptly, and she opens her eyes to see Zev crouching in front of her, cupping her cheek.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm—dizzy," says Rowan, and the world dips around her, filling with hundreds of tiny black spots. She closes her eyes again, and she sees a forest filled with fallen leaves—and a white wolf, smeared with blood, lying in front of her. The white wolf looks at her and changes into a much younger man with hair like charcoal and tanned skin.

_I'll take care of you_, she hears herself say, and the pain ends as suddenly as flipping a switch. All that is left is a startling clarity, and she glances up and meets his eyes. The puzzle pieces have finally all clicked together. "Oh, Zev, I'm _sorry_—"

Zev kneels in front of her and cups her face, sending sparks down her arms. "Why? None of this is your fault—"

Rowan grabs her soulmate's hands and rises. Zev gets to his feet and kisses her—softly at first, as if she is a porcelain doll he's afraid to break. The kiss is soft and shivery, and Rowan threads her fingers through his hair. But the gentle, exploratory nature of the kiss quickly changes. Zev hooks his hands underneath her thighs and lifts her up onto the table, deepening their kiss.

Rowan pulls away and gasps for breath, closing her eyes as he moves on to suck on a sensitive part of her neck. "I love you," she breathes, pulling his head up for a bruising kiss.

Zev breaks for air and rests his forehead against hers, cupping her face. "I love you," he replies, opening his eyes to stare at her. "How did you wake up?"

Rowan opens her eyes and meets his gaze, brought back to reality. "A woman. She said her name was Elle, and that this was a favor she expected to be returned."

Zev bristles slightly. "Elle? I've never heard of anyone named Elle."

"Well, that's what she told me to call her." Suddenly all Rowan wants to do is sleep, and she shut her eyes and rests her head on Zev's shoulder. "She said that something big was going to happen, and that she was going to be there to see it."

Zev clutches her arms and buries his face in her hair. "We won't worry about it now. As far as I know, Maya's rule is uncontested. I don't even think there are anymore Daybreakers left to challenge her—" He freezes, then calls himself an idiot under his breath.

Rowan feels like she has been socked in the gut. "_What?_"

Zev meets her gaze steadily, his brown eyes resigned. He starts rubbing circles in her arms, and she begins to calm down. "Rowan, you've been in a coma for sixteen years. A lot has changed since 2000."

She listens in silence as he explains everything to her, and starts shaking her head when he's done. "Oh, Goddess. . . ."

Almost everyone she knows and loves are gone. It seems like the only Daybreakers left alive are the ones living in Zev's pack—her, Mark, Selene and Jade. Tears begin to well in her eyes, and she rests her head on his shoulder to hide them.

Zev picks her up and carries her upstairs, entering the bedroom and setting her gently on the bed. He pulls the covers up to her chin, sits on the bed, holding her hand, and runs his thumb over her knuckles, as if reminding himself that she's real.

After a long while, he lets go of her head and pecks her forehead, whispering a goodnight to her. She watches as he slowly stands, walks away, and shuts the door behind him, leaving her the privacy to grieve properly.

Rowan sits up and watches the sun sink lower and lower into the sky, wrapping her arms around herself.

* * *

_May 16, 2016_

Rowan is walking around the garden, playing with red string in her hands. She has figured out by now that the sun only rises for three hours, and she can see the toll it has taken on the plants she once regularly cultivated. Wilted and dead flowers make up what used to be a blooming flowerbed, and yellow grass crunches under her feet.

_A lot has changed in sixteen years._

Rowan looks down at the red string between her hands and bites her lip, reciting the words in her head. She has poured over them for days—but she also hasn't said them since 2000.

She walks around a leafless maple tree, and sees Zev standing with one of the pack's witches, Selene Lucna, in front of a dried-out pool of water. Rowan steels her nerves and walks forward. Both turn at the sound of grass crunching underneath her feet.

"Why did you call me here, my Lady?" asks Selene, brushing blonde hair out of her chilly ice blue eyes. Zev says nothing, but she can tell by his expression that he agrees with the witch. Rowan smiles at her and hands her the red string. Then she takes Zev's hands and presses her own hands against them.

The sky is lightening as the sun begins its slow journey. Rowan couldn't have had better timing. Rowan stares at Zev as she whispers, "You're a witch. That's all I need. Please, Selene, wrap the string around our hands."

Both Zev and Selene look puzzled, but the witch begins to do as she says. As the red string is interwoven between the hands, binding them closer and tighter together, Rowan takes a deep breath and begins her Promise. "With this string—"

Zev catches on quickly, and they begin their Promise in unison. Selene smiles as she focuses on her task.

"I bind you to me for all time. Together, now and forever, we are entwined. Nothing but death will separate me from you. With this solemn vow, I firmly say that you are my love, to stand by my side, to support me in all that I do, as my only, as my equal. Together we shall stand the test of time. With this string, I bind you to me for eternity."

Selene ties off the knot just as they are finishing and steps away from them. "The Goddess has seen this Promising and smiles upon it," she proclaims, lifting her eyes to the pink-and-lavender-streaked sky. "As you have said, so it is done."

As they kiss, a figure watches them from behind the bushes. A smile slowly spreads across Elle's face as they seal the Promising, and she begins to back away from the bushes. When she knows that she won't be seen, she adjusts her backpack, turns around, and walks away.

She rubs her hands together, and her palms begin to glow amber. She looks at the stars as she walks and grins.

"Now it can begin."


End file.
